Tuesday, February 25, 2014

Resting Place



 

In greater, gentler hands
Our little life is held
Therefore we need not fear nor fret
As sands and seasons meld

Beyond our craving clutch
The numbering of days
Is cradled in a Father’s touch
And guarded ‘neath His gaze

Ah, blessed resting place
Beneath this turbid clime
Abides in unwavering grace
The hand that measures Time

© Janet Martin

Someone just asked about my dad and I told her he was moved out of ICU yesterday but they are keeping close watch on a blood clot in his lungs (the reason he can’t get the oxygen he needs). I’m glad he is held in Hands much bigger than ours.

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