The Hand That Rocks The Cradle

See her touch so tenderly
Like never others can,
See the care within her eyes
As she holds her infant’s hand,
See her gently stroke the brow
That’s wrinkled with his fear,
See her kindly wipe away
The saddened, trickling tear.
Precious is the one whose hands
Nurtured the babe that purled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Though it aches her kindly heart
She spares not but doth chastise,
In love she would train up the child
So his God he’ll not despise.
Her gentle guidance, firm reproof,
And gracious instruction
Are as the chisel that mold his block
To Godliness perfection.
For this she ought to strive and labor,
Though Satan’s darts are hurled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

 Is character by naught, achieved?
Does prudence come by wind?
Or comes integrity by birth;
And wisdom dwell within?
Nay, e’er must be the influence
Of righteous dignity,
Exemplified in every way
In her authority.
So requisite her influence
In a land where Truth is furled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Though feminine is her delight
And gracious is her touch,
Yet comes a strength unquenchable,
 Though still she dons her ruche,
For though her lot may never be
To wear laurels of fame,
Or conquer nations, rule the throne,
And live with highest name,
Her influence in sons she bore
Lives on, though ages whirled,
For the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.
O Mother, do not fain despise
Your calling in this place,
Though weariness and struggles come;
God gives His daily grace.
Your tender touch and patient care
Is molding men of great,
The generation next to come
Who’ll bear the nation’s fate.
 Remember as you kiss your babe
And hold his fingers curled,
That the hand that rocks the cradle
Is the hand that rules the world.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015



Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. 1 Corinthians 10:12

Hundreds of thousands of homes each year
Are met with devastating fate,
Destruction is rampant as an avid foe
Sneaks in—so much is at stake.

More damage is caused than all the effort
Of fire and storms combined,
The greatest are falling, though sturdy they seemed,
The smallest are, too, undermined.

Though, if from a distance you gazed upon
The towers standing tall,
They might brave the storms or be fireproof,
But what is it that makes them fall?

It’s not the foundation, for that is quite firm;
This doom does not happen to stone,
But into the wood which has no protection
A tiny foe slips in—unknown.

It tunnels along, so hidden from sight,
Consuming the internal strength,
Then, finally, when all is eaten away
The shell crumbles down at length.

Mourning, we see those great towers fall;
Despairing, we wonder, “why?”
Their foundations were sure; they braved fire and storm.
“What happened?” we sorrowfully cry.

Time and again, to home after home
This tiny foe was not new.
And, long before the great structure fell,
It ate away—hidden from view.

Such mass devastation is come in our land,
Strong homes being eaten away,
Towers looked up to, men we admire
Are crumbling down every day.

Though strong the foundation they stood upon,
And tho’ fire and storm they could brave,
Inside of their hearts where nobody sees
They were slowly being eaten away.

The termites of lust and wickedness
Are slipping in unperceived,
What starts out so small and innocent
Leaves them and their families deceived.

In a day of such great devastation
We simply cannot afford
To lose our homes, great or small,
While termites of sin we ignore.

So, let him that thinks he stands take heed
And guard every window and wall
From the tiny foe which so quickly slips in
And causes the greatest to fall.

Copyright © Elisabeth Linzey 2015