The Stable Of Bethlehem.

A poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon

'Twas not a palace proud and fair
He chose for His first home;
No dazz'ling pile of grandeur rare,
With pillar'd hall and dome;
Oh no! a stable, rude and poor,
Received Him at His birth;
And thus was born, unknown, obscure,
The Lord of Heaven and Earth.

No band of anxious menials there,
To tend the new-born child,
Joseph alone and Mary fair
Upon the infant smiled;
No broidered linens fine had they
Those little limbs to fold,
No baby garments rich and gay,
No tissues wrought with gold.

Come to your Saviour's lowly bed,
Ye vain and proud of heart!
And learn with bowed and humbled head
The lesson 'twill impart;
'Twill teach you not to prize too high
The riches vain of earth -
But to lay up in God's bright sky
Treasures of truer worth.

And you, poor stricken sons of grief,
Sad outcasts of this life,
Come, too, and seek a sure relief
For your heart's bitter strife;
Enter that village stable door,
And view that lowly cot -
Will it not teach you to endure,
And even bless your lot?

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