Andrew Peterson - Labor of love

It was not a silent ^Gnight ^A There was blood on the ^Dground You could hear a woman ^Gcry In the alleyways that ^Anight On the streets of David's ^Dtown And the stable was not ^Bmclean And the cobblestones^F#m were cold And little Mary full of ^Ggrace With the tears upon her ^Aface Had no mother's hand to ^Dhold

^D It was a labor of ^Gpain ^A It was a cold ^Bmsky above ^D But for the girl on the ground in the ^Gdark With every beat of her beauti^Aful heart It was a labor of ^Dlove ^{A/D D}

Noble Joseph by her ^Gside ^A Callused hands and weary ^Deyes There were no midwives to be ^Gfound On the streets of David's ^Atown In the middle of the ^Dnight So he held her and ^Bmhe prayed Shafts of moonlight on his ^F#mface But the baby in her ^Gwomb He was the maker of the ^Amoon He was the Author of the ^D/F#faith That could make the moun^Atains move

^D It was a labor of ^Gpain ^A It was a cold ^Bmsky above ^D But for the girl on the ground in the ^Gdark With every beat of her beauti^Aful heart It was a labor of ^Dlove ^{A/D D}

For little Mary full of ^Ggrace With the tears upon her ^Aface It was a labor of ^Dlove ^{A D}

It was not a silent ^Gnight ^A On the streets of David's ^Dtown