Why was not room made for thy mother in the inn?
Why wert thou manger-cradled, Lord? Could not heirship
From Israel's greatest king procure for her
Who bore thee, more than a pallet of straw in a stall;
And for thee a cradle of fine linen and soft down?
Why did not an angel whisper: "Blest inn-keeper,
Give thy best, this is Christ, Son of the Living Lord?
Is the world to know only its own? Thankless man,
Never to practice thy teaching; or see thy star?
Is he waiting for signs and wonders; believing
Battalions of angels will compel him to worship?
Thy birth-night, did not the heavens declare thy glory?
Did not an angel choir sing thy cradle hymn?
Yet to man thou remainest the carpenter's son;
Though the wise of earth waited-and prophets foretold;
Lauding Bethlehem of Judah as thy birthplace.
"And thou Bethlehem, Land of Judah,
Art in no wise least among the princes of Judah,
For out of thee shall come forth a ruler,
Who shall be shepherd of thy people Israel."