“THERE WAS NO ROOM FOR THEM IN THE INN.”
Foot-sore and weary, Mary tried
Some rest to seek, but was denied.
“There is no room,” the blind ones cried.
Meekly the Virgin turned away,
No voice entreating her to stay;
There was no room for God that day.
No room for her round whose tired feet
Angels are bowed in transport sweet,
The Mother of their God to greet.
No room for Him in whose small hand
The troubled sea and mighty land
Lie cradled like a grain of sand.
No room, O Babe divine! for thee
That Christmas night; and even we
Dare shut our hearts and turn the key.
In vain thy pleading baby cry
Strikes our deaf souls; we pass thee by,
Unsheltered ‘neath the wintry sky.
No room for God! O Christ! that we
Should bar our doors, nor ever see
Our Saviour waiting patiently.
Fling wide the doors! Dear Christ, turn back!
The ashes on my hearth lie black—
Of light and warmth a total lack.
How can I bid thee enter here
Amid the desolation drear
Of lukewarm love and craven fear?
What bleaker shelter can there be
Than my cold heart’s tepidity—
Chill, wind-tossed, as the winter sea?
Dear Lord, I shrink from thy pure eye,
No home to offer thee have I;
Yet in thy mercy pass not by.