Arms full of precious gifts;
As I embrace a bundle of joy.
He belongs to me as I to him,
But he is not mine.
A barren womb still remains
Resting in a single bed.
I wept the day he was born,
Wept with my sister
As we waited the arrival.
Tears of joy mixed with grief.
Will he ever know the doors he opened?
Doors of hope, doors of love.
As he cries for food,
My heart aches with pain.
Will these wounded breast ever give life?
Thoughts of him fill my day,
Sharing pictures as if he were mine.
He lightens my heart.
Helps me to hope in God’s goodness,
To long for a fruitful womb,
So this barren woman will sing,
Shout for joy, even without child.
Because the Lord says,
More are the children of the desolate woman
Than of her who has a husband. |
