At midnight’s hush, the cry arose, a wail through Egypt’s sleeping rows. The firstborn fell, the silence broke, a judgment wrapped in heaven’s cloak.
Pharaoh’s pride could not withstand the lifted staff, the Lord’s command. Each home bereft, each cradle still, the cost of hardened, godless will.
But in the tents of Israel’s kin, no death passed through, no cry within. The blood upon the doorframe stood, a mark of grace, a shield of good.
The Lord made known His holy line, distinction drawn by love divine. Though sorrow swept the land that night, His chosen walked beneath His light.
So now we weep, but not alone, for mercy marks what grief has known. Every tear a prayer becomes, a whisper of the Kingdom come.
© Christian National Church of Christ