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When the light returns and the long night fades,
and dawn slips soft through shadowed shades,
you feel the hush before the day –
a whisper of grace that finds its way.
The year turns slow beyond the wall,
yet Christ still comes to hearts that call;
not crowned in gold, nor robed in flame,
but born in dark, and born the same.
He comes to places harsh and bare,
to hidden hearts in need of care;
to those who sit with heavy eyes,
and wonder if their hope still lies.
The world outside may sing and shine,
with trees and bells and Christmas wine;
but here, where silence seems to stay,
the Saviour still is born today.
He knows the weight that walls contain,
the grief, the guilt, the inner chain;
for He too wore the robe of pain,
and walked through death to live again.
No gate, no guard, no lock, no key
can close the door of Calvary;
His love still reaches, fierce and far,
through every wound, through every scar.
And though this night may feel confined,
His light still lingers, clear and kind;
it flickers softly, pure, and true—
the Christ-child’s gaze that rests on you.
So lift your heart and dare believe,
that mercy waits for all who grieve;
that when your freedom finds its day,
His grace will go with you—always.
The fields will open, the sky unfold,
and sunlight wash the bars with gold;
you’ll step into that brighter air,
and find that He was always there.
For love that came in manger small
still moves through stone and steel and wall;
and when at last your gates are turned,
you’ll walk out whole—redeemed, re-learned.
So rest tonight in quiet trust,
though time be slow and walls are dust;
the child once born in straw and pain
will rise in you and live again.
And when that morning calls your name,
step forward free, yet not the same;
for Christ, who waited in your night,
will walk beside you in the light.
When the light returns and the long night fades,
and dawn slips soft through shadowed shades,
you feel the hush before the day –
a whisper of grace that finds its way.
The year turns slow beyond the wall,
yet Christ still comes to hearts that call;
not crowned in gold, nor robed in flame,
but born in dark, and born the same.
He comes to places harsh and bare,
to hidden hearts in need of care;
to those who sit with heavy eyes,
and wonder if their hope still lies.
The world outside may sing and shine,
with trees and bells and Christmas wine;
but here, where silence seems to stay,
the Saviour still is born today.
He knows the weight that walls contain,
the grief, the guilt, the inner chain;
for He too wore the robe of pain,
and walked through death to live again.
No gate, no guard, no lock, no key
can close the door of Calvary;
His love still reaches, fierce and far,
through every wound, through every scar.
And though this night may feel confined,
His light still lingers, clear and kind;
it flickers softly, pure, and true—
the Christ-child’s gaze that rests on you.
So lift your heart and dare believe,
that mercy waits for all who grieve;
that when your freedom finds its day,
His grace will go with you—always.
The fields will open, the sky unfold,
and sunlight wash the bars with gold;
you’ll step into that brighter air,
and find that He was always there.
For love that came in manger small
still moves through stone and steel and wall;
and when at last your gates are turned,
you’ll walk out whole—redeemed, re-learned.
So rest tonight in quiet trust,
though time be slow and walls are dust;
the child once born in straw and pain
will rise in you and live again.
And when that morning calls your name,
step forward free, yet not the same;
for Christ, who waited in your night,
will walk beside you in the light.
A delicious recipe from inside.
Life is only short my son, with so many paths to take, life is an uphill struggle, with every step you make. That’s why you must treasure life, with every second of the day, because you may never know, when it’s your turn to go away.
The outside on the inside, steals passion for fun. When arrows come from far and wide, facing the new shiny sun, with dignity. There are ribbons in the fire, and lives still painfully on hold. Beneath the folds of desire, the barred windows still remain cold indefinitely.
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