misc

Poem: Upon Christ His Birth


Strange news! a city full? will none give way
To lodge a guest that comes not every day?
No inn, nor tavern void? yet I descry
One empty place alone, where we may lie:
In too much fullness is some want: but where?
Men's empty hearts: let's ask for lodging there.
But if they not admit us, then we'll say
Their hearts, as well as inns, are made of clay.

- Sir John Suckling
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “hymnary” Tag

  • Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost

    Author: Mary Dana Shindler Flee as a bird to your mountain, Thou who art weary of sin; Go to the clear flowing fountain Where you may wash and be…

  • Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

    Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est. Where charity and love are, God is there. Congregavit nos in unum Christi amor. Christ's love has…

  • Twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

    Words: Attributed to F. R. Warren Music: Invitation New | From The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion by William Walker Hark, I hear the harps…