The conies had their hiding-place, <br />The wily fox with stealthy tread <br />A covert found, but Christ, the Lord, <br />Had not a place to lay his head. <br /> <br />The eagle had an eyrie home, <br />The blithesome bird its quiet rest, <br />But not the humblest spot on earth <br />Was by the Son of God possessed. <br /> <br />Princes and kings had palaces, <br />With grandeur could adorn each tomb, <br />For Him who came with love and life, <br />They had no home, they gave no room. <br /> <br />The hands whose touch sent thrills of joy <br />Through nerves unstrung and palsied frame, <br />The feet that travelled for our need, <br />Were nailed unto the cross of shame. <br /> <br />How dare I murmur at my lot, <br />Or talk of sorrow, pain and loss, <br />When Christ was in a manger laid, <br />And died in anguish on the cross. <br /> <br />That homeless one beheld beyond <br />His lonely agonizing pain, <br />A love outflowing from His heart, <br />That all the wandering world would gain.<br /><br />Frances Ellen Watkins Harper<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-had-not-where-to-lay-his-head/
