Without cost the morning comes,
laying gold upon the lake,
asking nothing for its light.

Without cost the sparrow sings,
spilling music through the air,
unaware of any debt.

So too the gifts that shaped my life—
a hand that lifted,
a word that healed,
a mercy I did not earn.

What was freely placed within my heart
was never mine to keep.

Like a river fed by hidden springs,
grace must travel onward,
finding thirsty ground.

Without cost I have received;
without cost may I give,
not counting,
not claiming,
but sharing what was first
given to me.

*Matthew 10:8