When little cares of daily life,
Make everything seem wrong;
Entwine them around a prayer,
Then direct it to the throne.
A Mother's Little Boy
The mother watched her little boy,
Wondering what the years would bring;
For she knew without a doubt,
That he was born to be a king.
His tunic was long and shaggy,
Knotted with a goatskin tie;
Did He know that in the future,
He would be condemned to die?
A tree somewhere was growing tall,
Into a cross it would be made;
it was to hold this little lad,
Who in the desert sands now played.
His mother lovelingly touched His head,
His laughter filled her heart with joy;
Although He was the "Son Of God',
He was still her little boy.
Everything seemed to be going well,
I was soaring through my days;
I always knew that God was there,
But I forgot to give Him praise.
Then there came a troubled time,
I could only sit and cry;
My wings had folded in the dark,
They were too weak to fly.
It seemed that God was saying,
I can surely set you free;
But child I had to clip your wings,
So you would lean on me.