Poetry

The hands that hold all planets in the endless universe,
that control galaxies in stretched out space
is still busy building you, and me
is mightily folded around my insignificant life
and in nature time after time I see their work
as they are here close to fend off all kinds of catastrophe.
 
The thoughts out of which man and all animals did come,
that guides and controls all things from the time of creation
is still busy astounding me with intense love
and every man, animal and plant is still mended by that power
as continually that great mind is busy
and where all things do fail God is still working.
 
The Christ that no cat-o’-nine nails, nail or spear could keep in death
is continually providing my daily bread.
He is present in each daily stress, circumstance and distress
and the hart that trusts Him
does even in the years of old age find revival
and will rest in His soft omnipotent hands.