Michael Card His Humanity
Born in the flesh, like you and me
In His humanity
To be believed, for all to see
Was His identity
In flesh and blood, in tender skin
His birth begins the story
From an empty grave, He rose to save
And this became the beginning of good news.
His familiar voice, its changing tones
His laugh, His groan, His smile
All the sleepless nights, His lonely grief
Their disbelief, His sighs
His homelessness, His weariness
Asleep on a stormy sea
Soaked by the rain, while in His veins
His blood contained the hope
For all the world
He was hungry, He was happy
He was tired, He was thirsty
And He could sorrow, He could savor
He could marvel at the flowers
He could thrill hearing the birds sing
He could weep at the first sign of spring
His hour had come, and far too soon
With the waxing of the moon
Caught up in a tide of hate and lies
A torrent toward the tomb
Midst the pain and the fear
His joyful tears
Were blended with His bleeding
In the endless ache His eyes await
And dilate with the darkness
He is bleeding, He is pleading
He is crying, He is dying
And as He fights to go on breathing
His mind sees each soul
He will redeem
