Tuesday, December 27, 2005

Room at the Inn

Of the many places on earth I’ve been,
Each served as home its appointed time;
I’d like one day to go back again,
To the sea to swim, and the mountain, climb –

Like the nearby peaks in New Mexico
Where the snowfall quelled the desert dust;
But soon from there it was time to go
Though a child had given his heart in trust.

We drove by car to Maryland
From whence we likewise took our leave
After autumn burned its colored band,
And the snow fell once on Christmas Eve.

In Carolina I roamed the hills
And tramped through the woods like Daniel Boone,
Saw serpents skate among the rills,
Then camped out under an August moon.

By boat we sailed to Germany,
The deep forest boughs were bent with snow;
The boy choir made fine harmony,
And from there I wished we’d never go –

"But Father," I asked, "when will we stay?"
"Don’t know," he said. "Till my work is done,
Each home is an inn along the way
To shelter us ere this race be run."

I returned in youth to Maryland,
Learned a little of love, a lot of sin,
But I thank that girl who took my hand
For, in grief, I was never to see her again.

I hiked through the snow to find my love,
Leaving my family on Christmas night,
Then remembered all gifts are strewn from above
As the snowflakes fell in the streetlamp’s light.

Though in all the places on earth I’ve been
The heart found a home on Christmas day –
Don’t think I’ll be going back again
To the wayfarers’ inns along the way.

The Christ child, too, in a place was born -
Who would be among men as one of them –
From where, in His mother’s arms, forlorn,
He fled His home in Bethlehem.

Our houses are built in a foreign land,
You sleep within beneath changing skies,
Till the Christ Child takes at last your hand
And bids you Wake, and then, Arise.





0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Home