Glen Allen - Our Father's Hands

Those callused hands, picked me up
So tenderly when I was hurt and confused
Hugged me when I had victories
Corrected some bad attitudes

Those gifted hands, built our house
Came to aid in our every fiasco
Kept the washer washing clothes, the car haulin’ kids
Played us to sleep with sweet hymns on the old piano

Our father’s hands, knew the plow
Knew the soil, and bore the scars
Of a childhood on the family farm
And the scars of marching off to war

At a gathering of Thanksgiving
He tried to hide his trembling hands
Hands that so well sustained us
Now struggled with simple tasks

Our father’s hands, knew the plow
Knew the soil, and bore the scars
Of a childhood on the family farm
And the scars , of marching off to war

Long years we watched his gift fade away
His piano left un-played
We hired out chores he’d always done
How we mourned our father’s hands

Our father’s hands, knew the plow
Knew the soil, and bore the scars
Of a childhood on the family farm
And the scars , of marching off to war

We loved
We loved out father’s hands

Written by:
GLEN SMITH

Publisher:
Lyrics © Songtrust Ave

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