We saw Helen Scott each Sunday at church in the early 1980s. She was elderly, then, or so she seemed to me when I was only in my thirties, preoccupied with a busy life as a working mom. I really don't know how old she was--maybe only the age I am now, almost 69! She had short white hair and was also short of stature, and stockily built.
My father-in-law, the pastor of the church at the time, often published poems when I wrote them, in the weekly bulletin, and because of this, Helen knew that we shared both a love of God and poetry. She died during those years of cancer, I believe, but before she died, she gave me a treasure, a small, red leather-bound copy of a devotional book entitled, Come Ye Apart, by J. R. R. Millar.
It was first given as a gift in January 1938, by "Elbert" to his dad, on his birthday. Helen gave it to me on June 28, 1981. Now, 81 years after it was first gifted, I still treasure it as a footprint of several people's faith.
One day, Helen gave me a handwritten copy of a poem she had written. At the top, it says, "To Mrs. Paul Burston, which seems so formal! But at the end, she says, "My dear Lynne (a nickname Paul still uses!), I wrote this I think in 1964, and the first line seemed to come to my mind after coming downstairs before I did anything else. I sat down with pencil and paper, and the rest came without any effort.
I have written your poem down. It is lovely,
With love,
Helen Scott.
Here is Helen's poem. May it bless someone who reads it here!
Thy Hands
Stretch forth thy hands, and break the chains that bind me,
Lord, let thy love and mercy fill my soul.
Stretch forth Thy nailed scarred hands to heal me,
Compassion, mercy grant, and make me whole.
Compassionate hands, that gave sight to the blind man,
Your precious hands nailed roughly to a tree.
Your life's own blood so freely shed for all men,
Remind me, Lord, that it was shed for me.
Your tender hands that drew the children to Thee,
The strong brown hands that calmed the troubled sea,
As I fall on my knees to praise Thee,
The hands I love Lord, let them rest on me.
Your blessed hands rest on my head a moment,
To cleanse my sins as I kneel down to pray,
To give thanks for the breath I have to praise Thee,
Lord, bless, and keep me safe throughout the day.
And when the day has ended, let my spirit,
Arise to greater heights to praise Thy Name,
And as the daylight fades I still will linger,
To give Thee thanks, and praise Thee once again.
Helen Scott
My father-in-law, the pastor of the church at the time, often published poems when I wrote them, in the weekly bulletin, and because of this, Helen knew that we shared both a love of God and poetry. She died during those years of cancer, I believe, but before she died, she gave me a treasure, a small, red leather-bound copy of a devotional book entitled, Come Ye Apart, by J. R. R. Millar.
It was first given as a gift in January 1938, by "Elbert" to his dad, on his birthday. Helen gave it to me on June 28, 1981. Now, 81 years after it was first gifted, I still treasure it as a footprint of several people's faith.
One day, Helen gave me a handwritten copy of a poem she had written. At the top, it says, "To Mrs. Paul Burston, which seems so formal! But at the end, she says, "My dear Lynne (a nickname Paul still uses!), I wrote this I think in 1964, and the first line seemed to come to my mind after coming downstairs before I did anything else. I sat down with pencil and paper, and the rest came without any effort.
I have written your poem down. It is lovely,
With love,
Helen Scott.
Here is Helen's poem. May it bless someone who reads it here!
Thy Hands
Stretch forth thy hands, and break the chains that bind me,
Lord, let thy love and mercy fill my soul.
Stretch forth Thy nailed scarred hands to heal me,
Compassion, mercy grant, and make me whole.
Compassionate hands, that gave sight to the blind man,
Your precious hands nailed roughly to a tree.
Your life's own blood so freely shed for all men,
Remind me, Lord, that it was shed for me.
Your tender hands that drew the children to Thee,
The strong brown hands that calmed the troubled sea,
As I fall on my knees to praise Thee,
The hands I love Lord, let them rest on me.
Your blessed hands rest on my head a moment,
To cleanse my sins as I kneel down to pray,
To give thanks for the breath I have to praise Thee,
Lord, bless, and keep me safe throughout the day.
And when the day has ended, let my spirit,
Arise to greater heights to praise Thy Name,
And as the daylight fades I still will linger,
To give Thee thanks, and praise Thee once again.
Helen Scott
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