In a Virgin's Womb

Casual glances toward the morning's mercy,

that falls like rain on the wicked and the just,

Squinting into the sunshine rising,

there's a little of both in every one of us.

 

I may never get my mind around it,

this mercy and grace that knows no bound,

I see it in the dawn's early light beguiling,

But it makes no sense as it makes no sound.

 

Love is in the shape of a cross

Hope is in an empty tomb

Faith is in the things that we cannot see

And it all began in a Virgin's womb.

 

Pain comes rumbling into every soul,

and none can explain it, if the truth be told,

But the Child of Mary, Who never did grow old,

Carried all that pain up a Jerusalem road.

 

Nails and flesh were never meant to meet,

The sound it makes is a horrible scream,

From the mouth of the Victim, Sacrifice, and Priest,

That's Mary's little Baby hanging on a tree.

 

Love is in the shape of a cross

Hope is in an empty tomb

Faith is in the things that we cannot see

And it all began in a Virgin's womb

 

Casual glances toward the morning's mercy

That falls like rain on every one of us. 

 

(Where are our tears?

Why don't we fall on our knees?

When will we turn from our damnable sin?,

back to the Virgin Mary's Child again.

back to the Virgin Mary's Child again...

back to the Virgin Mary's Child again...)

 

wkm

Oxford Ms