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