THE HANDS OF JOSEPH TREMBLED

Kerstin Koepl

The hands of Joseph trembled As he went about his task. Mary’s tale was strange and left A question he dared not ask. “The Child is of God Himself.” He knew Mary spoke the truth, Yet he wondered as he thought Of the Lord as a mere youth. He missed a nail as he mused And it dropped down to the sod. Who was he to fancy that He could rear the Son of God? The hands of Joseph trembled As he awakened from a dream. He’d seen an angel in his sleep And heard a heavenly theme. “Fear not,” the angel told him. “To take Mary as your wife. Her Child is the Savior Who Will restore the dead to life.” At once, his fears fell from him And his dread was made to still, Yet he marveled at the role He was given in God’s Will. The hands of Joseph trembled As he held the little Child And looked on the Face of God;

A Baby, beautiful and mild. His heart throbbed with a father’s love And a tear came to his eye As he rocked Our Lord in his arms And heard Him gently sigh. Pure joy shone in Mary’s face But all else was forgot, For beside that Child, shepherds, kings And even angels were but naught.

The hands of Joseph trembled As he laid his tools to rest: His workbench, nails, saw, and wood. The end came nigh of the test, So he lay down one last time. Any sorrow was put to flight As Jesus and His Mother Remained within his sight. For how could pain or even death Bring fear or even start To trouble one who’d lived so Close to the Sacred Heart?