When my baby boy was placed in a manger stall,

I could not have realized He’d belong to all.

Even though I loved him so, like all mothers do,

There would come a time too soon when my tears were new.

Seeing him grant Father’s will was my greatest test.

How could I behold his pain as a common guest?

“He’s my son!” I cried that truth, kneeling at His feet.

How could I endure my pain ‘til His was complete?

Soon my very soul was ripped like a piercing sword.

Simeon had prophesied— My own son, my Lord!

Just before His last full breath, these words came with care:

“Woman, please behold thy son.” I, by John, stood there.

My first son was crucified as I watched and pled.

But He was the chosen One, revelation said.

How did I stay near that cross when my Son was killed?

Only through my Father’s love was my soul then stilled.

Only through our Father’s sight watching from above,

Could I bear such anguish then, only through His love.