Sanctified Sight

We cannot hope to see God's face

Until we've seen His hand.

We cannot hope to recognize

Or even understand

The mercy of the Holy One,

His watchful tender care

Through blessings that surround us,

'Til we see His workings there.

His hand is seen in tenderness

Of mother's first embrace,

Of tiny infant placed nearby

Her wearied, grateful face.

His hand is witnessed carefully

Each time the sun doth rise

Then arcs upon its course along

The never ending skies.

His hand extends to weary hearts

Who suffer on their way,

Through other hands who minister

And care for them today.

His hand is quiet, gentle, seeking

Place on every head

Who seeks to feel His presence

More than worldly praise instead.

And as we train our eyes to see

The smallest grace from Him,

Our vision will be opened to

The majesties within -

Our noble born inheritance,

His children we'll be known.

As those who've seen His hands,

We'll know His face when we are home.