Long ago, a child was born.
Not conceived in nature's way.
For God Himself had a son,
Laid there on a bed of hay.

He then grew to be a man,
With no wealth to possess.
No fancy clothes did He wear.
Robe and sandals was His dress.

He walked upon the billows.
He hushed the sea to sleep.
He healed the sick by His touch,
Because His love ran deep.

When He was nailed on that cross
And crucified that day
Ten thousand angels must have cried
As darkened skies turned to gray.

Sealed in a tomb, with a stone,
And Guarded by night and day
But God would raise His own Son
On that blessed Easter Day.

He died to save us from sin.
Let us rise with Him today.
Let Him dwell within your heart.
He's the Truth, the Light, the Way.

~Author~

Ruth Ann Mahaffey

©Copyright 2002