Mother's Hands  
by Janet Martin

Not because of gold or silver
Not because of jeweled bands
Not because they're soft and perfect
Do I love my mother's hands
But because these hands once held me
Tenderly close to her breast
And because these hands would point me
To the path she knew was best.   
Mother's hands so gladly labored 
Mother's hands so seldom still.
Never seeking her own favor Giving always her free will
But the thing of greatest beauty As she tended to each care Was her source of strength for duty
Mother's hands were hands of prayer

Mother's hands would clap to praise me
For a good deed I had done
Mother's hands were there to save me
When my deeds had hurt someone
And my mother's hands would teach me
What is right and what is good

Mother's hands would always reach me
When no other hand e'er could. 
Mother's hands so full of power When her load was hard to bear. 
Even in life's darkest hour Mother's hands would fold in prayer. 
Oh, no matter where I travel Or how great the sights or grand
There is none to make me marvel
Like my mother's praying hands
Praying hands can reach her children When they've gone so far away
Mother knows that God will reach them As she folds her hands to pray.

Gracious Father, up in Heaven
Bless each mother everywhere
In each country, tribe or nation
Bless the hands, the hands of prayer