None have nursed at her breast
None have risen up to call her blessed
But there is hope in her heart that’s a mess
From the loss of dreams of children in the nest.
How can this be?
She is woman made to conceive
And to nurture life to believe
In the God who created us to be free!
Lies the enemy sings
That the babies who have their wings
Are because we made ourselves kings
Taking our desires as darkness rings.
But hope springs forth from the inside
Of the heart where Christ hides
That not all is lost, but abides
In the Sovereign hand of the Son who died.
So she hopes.
All of this again and again.
Until her faith like the grain
Of mustard seed grows in the rain
Of her tears of joy in the suffering.