When the world is heavy on my chest,
And I can’t seem to find my rest,
I close my eyes and understand—
I’m safely held by His strong hand.
Through every storm that shakes my soul,
When broken pieces lose control,
He gathers me with gentle might,
And holds me through the longest night.
His hands, they formed the moon and seas,
They calm the winds, they bend the trees.
And still, they cradle one like me—
So fragile, yet so loved and free.
Each scar within His palms declares
The depths of mercy that He bears.
No shame, no fear can stand or stay
When I am held in hands that pray.
When I feel weak, when I lose ground,
His grip remains — secure, profound.
Not once has He let go or slipped,
My soul forever in His grip.
So now I walk with lifted chin,
For I know Whose hands I’m resting in.
No power can break this sacred span—
I’m always held by His great hand.
©heavenecho
H