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When that no room was at the inn

  • By John Howland Beaumont

When that no room was at the inn And evening was come The ox whose rest from toil was in The peace of stables opened wide his door And said come in I have enough to share And shoulders for The weight of welcome And the yoke that has no nails. There's straw to spare For weariness and comfort for The way forespent. He will not wake the night To ask his earth's brightright. Though yet My heart was sore Before he went As father's son I sent The ox till morning light And too the yoke that has no nails So he should open wide his door And ask her in.

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