Sanctified Sight

 We cannot hope to see God's face
    Until we've seen His hand.
We cannot hope to recognize
    Or even understand
The mercy of the Holy One,
    His watchful tender care
Through blessings that surround us,
    'Til we see His workings there.

His hand is seen in tenderness
    Of mother's first embrace,
Of tiny infant placed nearby
    Her wearied, grateful face.
His hand is witnessed carefully
    Each time the sun doth rise
Then arcs upon its course along
    The never ending skies.

His hand extends to weary hearts
    Who suffer on their way,
Through other hands who minister
    And care for them today.
His hand is quiet, gentle, seeking
    Place on every head
Who seeks to feel His presence
    More than worldly praise instead.

And as we train our eyes to see
    The smallest grace from Him,
Our vision will be opened to
    The majesties within -
Our noble born inheritance,
    His children we'll be known.
As those who've seen His hands,
    We'll know His face when we are home.

Anna M. Molgard

©2009 Faithsong Publications, L.L.C.
This piece may be copied for noncommercial use.