Poetry: A Christmas Poem

There fared a mother driven forth
 Out of an inn to roam;
 In the place where she was homeless
 All men are at home.
 The crazy stable close at hand,
 With shaking timber and shifting sand,
 Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand
 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 land
 Whenever the day is done.
 Here we have battle and blazing eyes,
 And chance and honor and high surprise,
 But our homes are under miraculous skies
 Where the yule tale was begun.

A Child in a foul stable,
 Where the beasts feed and foam;
 Only where He was homeless
 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 show
 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 enough
 For our wonder and our war;
 But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings
 And our peace is put in impossible things
 Where clashed and thundered unthinkable wings
 Round an incredible star.

To an open house in the evening
 Home shall men come,
 To an older place than Eden
 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 homeless
 And all men are at home.

--

G.K. Chesterton was an English author, journalist, and Christian apologist. He converted to Catholicism in the early 20^th century and is known for his witty, original, and humorous style of writing. He wrote novels, essays, short stories, and verse throughout his life and career.