Your Own Hands I Get My Daily Bread (Cavatina)

From Your own hands I get my daily bread,
You know my heart,
above living and dead You are supreme;
You know each part
which makes me and You know everything;
in my own art
You are present, even in each dispute;
You make me great, grand, good and resolute.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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