A Mexican Mother's Christmas Morn
 
 This Christmas morn I woke when dawn began to peek. 
 I looked upon my little ones in sleep--
 all seven lying there upon the earthen floor.
 I saw beneath the ragged quilts all that I adored.
 
 I moved to stir the charcoal to a flame
 and thoughts rushed in-- 'Am I to blame?'
 My children live in daily need and suffer so.
 All say I'm wrong--and this I rightly know.
 
 Then I thought on how my life to sadness turned--
 when just a child of fifteen years, I learned
 that men who live for self and sin
 only use a little girl their way to win.
 
 Other men since have passed this way--
 one for a year-- one for a month-- but none to stay.
 Each paid the rent and left us all more sad;
 each left a scar on those who called him 'Dad.'
 
 I looked upon my sleeping girls, and cried inside--
 'Can they be spared--escape the death I died?
 My mother and my sisters all the same
 have lived like me-- in forced and ugly shame!'
 
 A knock upon my door shook me from my plight!
 A voice of hope that called into my night!
 He told me Christmas means that God does care--
 a Savior's come -- all my sins to bear!
 
 Awake, my jewels! come with me to pray!-
 I see in Christ, a new and happy day!
 Tho' toys and dolls I do not have to give,
 we'll have His peace and now begin to live!
 
 Gather here around the fire as one--
 we'll give God thanks for giving us His Son.
 He who brought God's Word this way,
 brought the greatest gift this Christmas day.
 
 By Missionary Bob Smith