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