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 cling to this man,
He overcame death, forgave all my sins – it was part of His wonderful plan.