No room at the inn for the Lord of Life,
No place for the baby head,
And the child of Love in his swaddling clothes
Was laid in a manger-bed.
No room,—and I ponder the story old
Of that peaceful Christmas night,
Of the crowded inn, and the sleepers there
Who saw not the blessed light;
Who heard not the song that the angels sang
Of the Christ child's holy birth,
And only the watching shepherds knew
Of the love that had come to earth.
Make room—for to-day is the Christ on earth,
And this shall be still the sign,
In the raiment of purity, peace, and love,
We shall find the child divine;
For the angels song has not passed from earth,
Nor gone is the light from men;
In the Healing Love that has come to bless,
We may know the Christ again.
