(by Dan Hinz)
Where is the man with calloused hands
Whose soul has substance and grit
Who has worked his whole life, and loved but one wife
Cause he knew well enough not to quit
Where is the man with dirt-stained hands
Colored black by the land he has tended
Whose leather skin, and honest grin
Quietly witness the beauty he’s defended
Where is the man with weathered hands
Who has endured his share of pain
Who has lost things dear, and shed a tear
But never uttered a word to complain
Where is the man with honest hands
Whose handshake is firm, but tame
Whose words are true when he speaks to you
Simply based on his good name
Where is the man with thankful hands
That can count the simple blessings
Who is free from greed and gives to need
And doesn’t give way to vain impressing
Where is the man with praying hands
Humbly living for God’s glory
Who knows his place by God’s good grace
And embraces his part of the story
Where is this man, with well-worn hands
Who is thick skinned, yet soft hearted
We still need this dying breed
Let’s pray they’ve not departed
