The darkness changes into light,
A newborn baby cries.
See the pride and joy
In His mother's eyes.
Her eyes are filled with tenderness,
But what do those eyes see?
A baby deep in slumber
Upon His mother's knee?
Or does she glimpse a wooden cross,
Fashioned out of spite?
A stinging lash, a crown of thorns,
A day as dark as night?
A day as dark as night?
His tiny fingers clutch her hands.
She loosens them with care.
In the smoothness of the baby's palm,
does she see a nail print there?
A shadow falls across her face.
Can she see the tears
That, one day, gentle eyes will shed
While others offer jeers?
Oh, can she see God's perfect plan?
Does she know the price
Of raising up God's Son and hers
A perfect sacrifice?
Her Son was born to die.
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