Early morning; sun burns bright, the new day dispels the night. Dew on grass reflects the dawn, a welcome sight on this garden lawn.
Man and wife rise with the day, hearts expectant of what comes their way. A gift from God the Father, this new home. To cultivate, rule and make their own.
A snake in the grass, fruit on the tree. Lies, deception; with bondage and captivity. Expelled from the garden, forced to leave their home. Now they wander a harsh land, not their own.
Down through time as generations pass, the gardener's descendant's now many and vast. Still carry the burden of original sin, crying out for release, a chance to know the Father again.
Another garden, this time at night; a man praying, a crowd with torches bright. Arrested and beaten, then taken away. A life lived in love, the crime for which He must pay.
A cross on a hill blood flows to the ground. The Father's silent, whispering not a sound. All heaven weeps, as God turns away from His Son. This sacrifice made for the sins we have done.
Early morning, sun burns bright, the new day dispels the night.
An empty garden tomb, a risen Lord, heaven and earth in one accord.
For man and woman a way has been made. Reunion with God in this Great trade. The curse of the garden no longer applies, when the blood of Jesus cleanses and sanctifies.
The clouds in the sky are grey and dark, much like the turmoil inside my heart.
The things I purpose to do, I often don't . Winding up doing what I've promised I won't.
Duality inside my soul battles deep within. A constant fight of right and wrong, Godliness and sin.
Righteousness worked out in the flesh, all in vain.
So heavy to carry so much guilt and shame.
My mind's eye sees the need to work and please God.
Yet fearing His wrath, the retribution of His rod.
A self made path to heaven becomes such a strenuous road.
Our Gracious Father never intended us to bear that load.
The way of Jesus is easy, His burden is light.
Only through His blood can our misdeeds be made right.
His death was sufficient, the work is done; so no more struggling, the battle is won.
God's love and acceptance can never be bought.
It's been there all the time, it just needs to be sought.
The birth of Christ, such a wonderful thing, causing shepherds to worship and angels to sing.
Magi who carry their gifts from afar, eyes to the heavens they follow a star.
Not born in a palace for He was too great, but delivered amongst sheep, in lowly and mean estate.
Born for death, this creator of life, The Prince of Peace destined to live amid strife.
Most righteous of men, between thieves He would die. He was brought low so we might be raised high.
This Son of God who was born like a slave, would perish a criminal, confident our souls He would save.
The grave forever vanquished as He rises from the dead.
Choosing to exist as a servant, He has been made Sovereign instead.
Despising not the stable or the beast with which he now boards.
This babe in the manger, soon will take His place, as King of Kings and Lord of Lords.