And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.— Luke. 2:7.
Hadst thou been host that Christmas morn,
Which dawned on the Judsean town,
When Mary, and the one new-born,
Were without place to lay them down;
Wouldst thou have turned them from thy door,
Blighting thy God-speed with a frown?
Or sharing, like the kine, thine all,
Wouldst thou behold that wondrous gem,
Which shone above the hallowed stall,
With glory over Bethlehem?
Wouldst thou unlatch thy tavern door.
And graciously make room for them?
Still in that rare Redemption Light,
The new-born Christ is pleading yet;
Wilt thou receive him in his night,
Or as the babe the shepherds met?
Truth seeks a welcome at thy door.
And "Peace, good-will," annuls thy debt.
Then send away each royst' ring guest,
The sinful thoughts that throng thy inn,
Make thy heart's best room whitely drest,
A fair and holy place within,
Lest when the Saviour comes again,
There still should be no room for him.
