The Hand Between

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Photo by Lukas on

Shep and Shepherds should rest in the comfort that we are held in the hands of our Savior. He holds us in dark days, in sad days, and in days of pure joy. This is a poem from A Minister’s Obsticales by Ralph G. Turnbull.

He held the lamp that Sabbath day

So low that none could miss the way,

And yet so high, to bring to sight

That picture fair of Christ the Light,

That, gazing up, the lamb between

The hand that held it was not seen.


He held the pitcher, stooping low,

To lips of little ones below;

Then raised it to the weary saint,

And bade him drink when sick and faint.

They drank, the pitcher them between,

The hand that held it was not seen.


He blew the trumpet soft and clear,

That trembling sinners need not fear;

And then with louder note and bold,

To storm the walls of Satan’s hold;

The trumpet coming thus between,

The hand that held it was not seen.


And when our Captain says, ‘Well done,

Thou good and faithful servant; come,

Lay down the pitcher and the lamp,

Lay down the trumpet, leave the camp,’

The weary hands will then be seen

Clasped in the pierced ones, naught between.


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