There fared a mother driven forth <br />Out of an inn to roam; <br />In the place where she was homeless <br />All men are at home. <br />The crazy stable close at hand, <br />With shaking timber and shifting sand, <br />Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand <br />Than the square stones of Rome. <br /> <br />For men are homesick in their homes, <br />And strangers under the sun, <br />And they lay on their heads in a foreign land <br />Whenever the day is done. <br />Here we have battle and blazing eyes, <br />And chance and honour and high surprise, <br />But our homes are under miraculous skies <br />Where the yule tale was begun. <br /> <br />A Child in a foul stable, <br />Where the beasts feed and foam; <br />Only where He was homeless <br />Are you and I at home; <br />We have hands that fashion and heads that know, <br />But our hearts we lost - how long ago! <br />In a place no chart nor ship can show <br />Under the sky's dome. <br /> <br />This world is wild as an old wives' tale, <br />And strange the plain things are, <br />The earth is enough and the air is enough <br />For our wonder and our war; <br />But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings <br />And our peace is put in impossible things <br />Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings <br />Round an incredible star. <br /> <br />To an open house in the evening <br />Home shall men come, <br />To an older place than Eden <br />And a taller town than Rome. <br />To the end of the way of the wandering star, <br />To the things that cannot be and that are, <br />To the place where God was homeless <br />And all men are at home.<br /><br />Gilbert Keith Chesterton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-house-of-christmas-2/
