The little Jesus came to town; The wind blew up, the wind blew down; Out in the street the wind was bold; Now who would house Him from the cold?
Then opened wide a stable door, Fair were the rushes on the floor; The Ox put forth a horned head : 'Come, Little Lord, here make Thy bed.'
Up rose the Sheep were folded near: 'Thou Lamb of God, come, enter here.' He entered there to rush and reed, Who was the Lamb of God, indeed.
The little Jesus came to town; With Ox and Sheep He laid Him down; Peace to the byre, peace to the fold, For that they housed Him from the cold!
A Rhyme of Death's Inn
- by Lizette Woodworth Reese29
A rhyme of good Death's inn! My love came to that door; And she had need of many things, The way had been so sore.
My love she lifted up her head, "And is there room?" said she; "There was no room in Bethlehem's inn For Christ who died for me."
But said the keeper of the inn, "His name is on the door." My love then straightway entered there: She hath come back no more.
Poems by Lizette Woodworth Reese, Lizette Woodworth Reese's poems collection. Lizette Woodworth Reese is a classical and famous poet (January 9, 1856 - December 17, 1935 / Waverly). Share all poems of Lizette Woodworth Reese.