Classic Poem

If Jesus should tramp the streets tonight,
Storm-beaten and hungry for bread,
Seeking a room and a candle light
And a clean though humble bed,
Who would welcome the Workman in,
Though He came with panting breath,
His hands all bruised and His garments thin—
This Workman from Nazareth?

Would rich folk hurry to bind His bruise
And shelter His stricken form?
Would they take God in with His muddy shoes
Out of the pitiless storm?
Are they not too busy wreathing their flowers
Or heaping their golden store—
Too busy chasing the bubble hours
For the poor man's God at the door?

And if He should come where churchmen bow,
Forgetting the greater sin,
Would He pause with a light on His wounded brow,
Would He turn and enter in?
And what would He think of their creeds so dim,
Of their weak, uplifted hands,
Of their selfish prayers going up to Him
Out of a thousand lands?