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?