Poems (Cromwell)/Testimony of Hands
TESTIMONY OF HANDS
Is every day the judgment day? A thousand mortals lift on high A throng of hands that plead and pray; Beneath a space of quiet sky, Their several gestures testify.
Oh, mark the wistful hand that holds A sorrow in its upturned palm; The gentle hand that firmly folds Across the breast to make it calm! Oh, mark the hand by which the balm
Of youth was scattered, eloquent As the grey leaf upon the tree When summer's mellow joy is spent! Above that throng of hands, oh, see The Hand that plies eternity!