Praise God! Praise God! Give me my tools again! Oh, let me grasp a hammer and a saw! Bring me a nail, and any piece of wood. Come, see me shut my hand and open it, And watch my nimble fingers twirl a ring. How good are solids! -- oak, and stone, and iron, And rough and smooth, and straight and curved and round! Here, Hannah: for these long and weary years My hand has ached to smooth your shining hair And touch your dimpled cheek. Come, wife, and see: I am a man again, a man for work, A man for earning bread and clothes and home; A man, and not a useless hold-the-hand; A man, no more a bandaged cumberer. Oh, blessed Sabbath of all Sabbath days! And did you hear them muttering at Him? And did you see them looking sour at me? They'll cast me from the synagogue, perchance; But let them: I've a hand, a hand, a hand! And ah, dear wife, to think He goes about So quietly, and does such things as this, Making poor half-men whole, in hand and foot, In eye and ear and witless maniac mind, To get such praise as that! Well, here's a hand, A strong, true hand that now is wholly His, To work or fight for Him, or what He will; For He has been the Hand of God to me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A HYMN [TO THE NAME AND] IN HONOR OF SAINT TERESA by RICHARD CRASHAW THE MAIZE by WILLIAM WHITEMAN FOSDICK THE NIGHT COURT by RUTH COMFORT MITCHELL AUNTIE'S SKIRTS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AN HYMN TO THE EVENING by PHILLIS WHEATLEY |