In the Tears of a Wounded Child

In the tears of a wounded child what is one to see,
But a smiling face of a little one looking back at me,

Who knows what's behind those eyes a world that no one knows,
A timid little look that she's only allowed to show,

She knows not what tomorrow brings or what the night bestows,
So, she whispers a tiny prayer to a man she's come to know,

This man's name is Jesus, she's heard not much about,
She knows His name means Saviour, He's heard her cries no doubt.

She wonders how to reach him; does He not love her,too?
How can grown-ups be so mean, neglectful, and abuse.

Little did she realize until one day she's grown,
That the very man she prayed to would make her His very own.

Then later He would reveal it on an old country pew,
You are my precious child that I've always knew.

You see, child I felt each strike that was given unto you,
For I myself was beaten, abandon, and abused.

So now you can find comfort and in my bossom rest,
You were always precious to me and for you I gave my best.