O Hand! I have no need of Thee!

This poem is dedicated to a brother in Christ, whose sincerity as a brother I do not doubt, but who carries about in the Body of Christ that affliction of mind which teaches that if God had anything to say to 'The Pastor'  He would say it to him directly, and never through any member of the 'congregation'.

O Hand! I have no need of thee!
For being Eye do plainly see;
And know all things that come to light,
Whilst thou art lacking still of sight.
And like that low and humble Toe,
Which plodding through the mire dost go,
Thou art not elevated high,
With lofty visions as am Eye,
To see all things that are revealed;
These things from you are darkly sealed.
For how could you, by Fingers, know,
Instructing Feet which way to go?
Or looking up to brilliant sun,
Couldst say to Legs, "Tis time to run?"
Though deft, tis true, your Fingers be,
Yet not one color can they see;
And yet a rainbow of them fill
The vistas streaming past each hill;
While thou, poor sightless Hand, are dark,
To sun or moon or distant star.
These things from you are wisely veiled,
Nor pitch from blinding light can tell;
But pressed, perhaps, into the dirt,
Or grasping parts with sudden hurts,
You cannot see as Eye might do,
The red sunrise or morning dew.
Oh why wouldst thou expect to speak,
To Eye of what you'll never see?
What hope you harbor to inform,
Whose calluses are roughly worn?
With all that wondrous Eye can see,
Oh Hand! I have no need of thee!