G.K. Chesterton's The House of Christmas
There fared a mother driven forth
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she
was homeless
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close
at hand,
With shaking timber and
shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to
abide and stand
Than the square stones
of Rome.
For men are homesick in
their homes,
And strangers under the
sun,
And they lay on their
heads in a foreign land
Whenever the day is
done.
Here we have battle and
blazing eyes,
And chance and honour
and high surprise,
But our homes are under
miraculous skies
Where the yule tale was
begun.
A Child in a foul
stable,
Where the beasts feed
and foam;
Only where He was
homeless
Are you and I at home;
We have hands that
fashion and heads that know,
But our hearts we lost -
how long ago!
In a place no chart nor
ship can show
Under the sky's dome.
This world is wild as an
old wives' tale,
And strange the plain
things are,
The earth is enough and
the air is enough
For our wonder and our
war;
But our rest is as far
as the fire-drake swings
And our peace is put in
impossible things
Where clashed and
thundered unthinkable wings
Round an incredible
star.
To an open house in the
evening
Home shall men come,
To an older place than
Eden
And a taller town than
Rome.
To the end of the way of
the wandering star,
To the things that
cannot be and that are,
To the place where God
was homeless
And all men are at home.
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