I

MY soul and life a stable are,
Dark, warm within — outside, a star.
Lord Christ, thy home is high and far.
My stable, though a sheltering thing,
It was not built to shield a king,
Nor angels with up-pointed wing.
The cattle, simple, dumb, and kind,
In it a humble comfort find
’Gainst cold and hunger and rough wind;
They look not if the roof be tall;
Each takes his rest within his stall,
Nor finds his sweet-breathed portion small.
Yet, Lord, if Thou shouldst ever be
In need — or any dear to Thee
Want shelter — Lord Christ, think of me.

II

Within the stable safe and low,
Behold now great winged angels go
How worshipfully to and fro;
Where humble cattle came and went,
With food appeased, with rest content,
Wise kings in worship now are bent;
And where the stable-master plied
His simple task, with heart untried,
Glad shepherds kneel, awed, sanctified;
Gifts of the first fruits of the fold,
Of frankincense, and gems, and gold,
Spread on the humble straw, behold!
Thus on a night Lord Christ, his grace,
Remembered me, and for a space
Made my abode his dwelling-place.