Cross Roads

A BABY'S HANDS

     God made the rivers, the hills, and the seas,
     God made the flowers, the grass, and the trees;
     God made the clouds, and the waves, silver-crested,
     Then God made the hands of a baby—and rested!

     How did He make them? Well, nobody knows—
     Some say He dreamed of the bud of a rose,
     And that He woke as the dawn swept away
     Night in the dancing pink promise of day.

     Maybe He thought of the light of a star,
     (That's why He made them as soft as they are!)
     Maybe He watched while a new butterfly,
     Light as a sunbeam, went fluttering by.

     Maybe He walked in a garden, dew-kissed,
     That's why He made them as frail as the mist—
     Then as He leaned from His heaven above,
     God made them strong as His greatest gift—LOVE!

     God made the mountains—we wonder at these—
     God made the splendor of sunsets and trees;
     God made vast mines where a world's wealth is piled,
     Then God made the hands of a baby—and smiled!