Frail eyes could not betray the Spirit’s view, A cross of hands, a cross of grace, The elder bowed beneath a younger’s name, yet both were held in sacred space.
“Like a shepherd,” Jacob spoke, near twilight’s end, “My years were led by gentle light.” The mind You gave still prays, still bends, for children walking paths of might.
Let blessing rise like morning dew, from thought made holy, hushed and true. And in their name, and Yours above, May mercy bloom, may faith renew.
© Genesis 48:8–16 Reflection