She kept her quiet vigil

In the shadow of the cross,

A youthful, sad- eyed woman

Weeping softly for her loss…

It was Friday… and her son was going to die…

The infant she had cradled

In her heart in other days

Looked down in anguish

With compassion in his gaze…

It was Friday… and her son was going to die…

 The toddler who had laughed

And played beside her in the sun

Was suffering now before her eyes,

And nothing could be done…

It was Friday… and her son was going to die…

The young boy who had brought her

So much joy throughout the years

Was dying as an outcast

While she watched him through her tears…

It was Friday… and her son was going to die…

 The man who hung above her

Had done nothing wrong she knew—

He’d been a loving son,

A kind and gentle person, too…

It was Friday… and her son was going to die…

Her mother’s heart was shattered

But she managed to forgive—

For she had the Father’s word

That in three days in her son would live…

Sunday’s coming… and the Son is going to rise…

By B.J. Hoff