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- The House of Christmas By G. K. Chesterton 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.
The poem's language is simple yet evocative, capturing the elusiveness of true home and the transformative power of divine presence. "The House of Christmas" not only reflects Chesterton's personal faith but also resonates with the uncertainties and longings of the early 20th century.
Mar 6, 2024 · 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.
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,
Jan 15, 2022 · ←. The Wise Men. Poems (1915) by Gilbert Keith Chesterton. The House of Christmas. A Song of Gifts to God. →. sister projects: Wikidata item. THE HOUSE OF CHRISTMAS. T HERE 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,
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 wife’s tale, And strange the plain things are,
Thank you. The House of Christmas. by Gilbert Keith Chesterton. 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.
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. Email This Poem to a Friend.
