Original art by Paul T. Boecher©
I had no gift to offer on the morning of His birth. My voice had no great songs to sing.
The gifts I could give had no possible worth? My words were not worthy to bring?
He gave up His life, He suffered and died; His hands and feet nailed to a tree.
When the sword pierced a gash in His most precious side, I know that He bled just for me.
He died – my Redeemer, but did willingly so. The grave could not hold to this man.
He overcame death, forgave all my sins. It was part of His wonderful plan.
Kathy Boecher ©