Oh, those beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful hands!
Tho’ they nei­ther were dain­ty nor small,
Yet my mo­ther’s hands were the fair­est
And love­lie­st hands of all.

Refrain

My mo­ther’s dear hands, her beau­ti­ful hands,
Which guid­ed me safe o’er life’s sands,
I bless God’s name for the me­mo­ry
Of mo­ther’s own beau­ti­ful hands.

Oh, those beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful hands!
How they cared for my in­fant days!
They guid­ed my feet into plea­sant paths,
And smoothed all the rug­ged ways.

Refrain

Oh, those beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful hands!
As they pressed my ach­ing brow,
They cooled the fe­ver and eased the pain,
Methinks I can feel them now.

Refrain

Oh, those beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful hands!
Thin and wrin­kled with age they grew;
But still they toiled on for the child so dear,
And her love seemed more ten­der and true.

Refrain

Oh, those beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful hands!
Then I stood by her cof­fin one day,
And I kissed those hands so cold and still,
As qui­et and peace­ful she lay.

Refrain

Oh, those beau­ti­ful, beau­ti­ful hands!
I shall clasp them again once more,
As my feet touch the bank of the heav’n­ly land;
We shall meet on that shin­ing shore.

Refrain