Grandparenting

Gingerly he turns the key and
guides the pendulum's flight,
Replaces, then, the key inside
and beds down for the night.

While others love to hear the chime
that says the day's begun,
'Tis father's hand that marks the time
and gives it pow'r to run.

When desert sun would scorch and burn
the shoots and buds so tender,
All through the night he takes the turn
that green life it may render.

Though it were sandy desert soil
unwillingly to yield
He lays his hand to work and toil
and lo - a verdant field.

With tenderness he looks on as
the lambs find mother's side,
And watches as they nurse and feed,
his face aglow with pride.

But then he sees the small one who
has not a mother there,
"Come, Lamby, here," and in his hand
he takes him in his care.

When hearts are filled with gratitude
or lifted up with love,
He voices our emotions in
his praise to God above.

The words of loved, sacred hymns
in tenor sing so true,
And Father's hand can make the old
piano praise Him, too.

As with the fields and flocks,
and the piano when he sings,
As with the antique, wind-up clocks,
and other treasured things,

His touch has given life and care
and sustenance and power,
To grandchildren who've gladly come
to earth in this great hour.

A hand of friendship, discipline,
of comfort, guidance, love,
To men and women here for God,
just come from up above.

And when he speaks with faith and power,
God's will we understand.
How great the blessings wrought beneath
the touch of Father's hand.

~Rachel Demille

In honor of my grandparents, my parents - the blessed grandparents of my children, and grandparents everywhere.  You are changing the world.