These hands ain't the hands
of a gentleman,
These hands are calloused and old.
These hands raised a family;
these hands raised a home.
Now these hands raise to praise the Lord.
These hands won the heart
of my loved one,
And with hers they were never alone.
If these hands filled their task,
Then what more could one ask?
For these fingers
have worked to the bone.


Now don't try to judge me
by what you'd like to be,
For my life ain't been much success.
While some people have power,
but still they grieve
While these hands
brought me happiness.


Now I'm tired and I'm old and
I ain't got much gold;
Maybe things ain't been
all that I planned.
God above, hear my plea,
when it's time to judge me
Take a look at
these hard-workin' hands.



by Hank Snow