There fared a mother driven
Out of an inn to roam;
In the place where she was
All men are at home.
The crazy stable close at hand,
With shaking timber and shifting sand,
Grew a stronger thing to abide and
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
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
Where the yule tale was begun.
A Child in a foul stable,
Where the beasts feed and foam;
Only where He was
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
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
For our wonder and our war;
But our rest is as far as the fire-drake
And our peace is put in impossible
Where clashed and thundered unthinkable
Round an incredible star.
To an open house in the
Home shall men come,
To an older place than
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
And all men are at home.
