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The Stable-boy's Guest Post by :kscorp00 Category :Poems Author :Jean Blewett Date :November 2011 Read :6808

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The Stable-boy's Guest

The Wise Men came to the inn that night,
"Now open to us," they cried,
"We have journeyed far that we might kneel
To One who doth here abide."

The door was opened with eager haste.
"Of whom do ye come in quest?
Can it be that a lord of high degree
Is with us this night as guest?"

The Wise Men answered: "The eastern sky
Is luminous still, and clear,
With the radiance of a golden star
That hath led our footsteps here.

"Blessed, O keeper, this inn of thine,
Both thatch and foundation stone,
For the open door and hearth-fire warm
When the King came to His own!"

"The King! the King!" loud the keeper's cry,
"The King in this house of mine!
Lights ho! lights ho! set the place aglow,
Bring forth the meat and the wine!

"The King! let the guest-room be prepared--
Honor and homage we pay
To royal son of a royal line
Who tarries with us to-day!"

From room to room of the inn they went,
The Wise Men and keeper proud,
But not a trace of the One they sought
Found they in that motley crowd.

"You have other guests?" the Wise Men asked,
And the keeper's face flamed red;
"But a straggling pair who came so late
They found neither room nor bed."

"My masters," a lad said timidly,
"As I gave the cattle feed,
Came creeping down to the stable door
A woman in sorest need.

"I made her a bed in the manger low,
At head of the oxen mild,
And, masters, I heard a moan of pain,
Then the cry of a new-born child."

"A prince shalt thou be!" the Wise Men cried,
"For hearkening to that moan,
A prince shalt thou be for succor given
When the King came to His own!"

"Nay, I'm but a stable-boy," he smiled,
With his eager eyes aglow;
"No King, but a little naked child,
Sleeps out in my manger low."

* * * * *

Hast come to these homes of ours, O Christ,
In quest of a meal or bed,
And found no welcoming cheer set forth,
Nor place to pillow thine head?

Give us a heart aflame with love,
Filled with a pity divine,
Then come Thou as beggar, or babe, or king,
The best that we have is Thine.

(The end)
Jean Blewett's poem: Stable-Boy's Guest

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