I was there the night the Savior came.
His parents at my door were firmly knocking.
Road weary and alone, in need they stood.
How could I know my inn would birth a King?
I looked into the face of that young woman,
and in her husband’s voice I heard the plea.
Behind me noise and raucous laughter echoed,
“I have a place of quiet. Come with me.”
I led them to the stable in the starlight.
The warmth of gentle beasts would soothe them there.
In labor Mary stumbled as we entered.
“I’ll send someone to help you. Rest in here.”
Into the inn I hurried and called quickly,
“Dear wife, please go, and help the traveling pair.”
“And would you have me leave the guests I’m serving?”
she questioned as I stood before her there.
“A baby will be coming any moment.
You must go. You are needed. This I know.”
Her eyes searched mine, and no more words were uttered.
Into the night my wife did quickly go.
Time passed among the drinking, joking rabble.
At one time I’d have joined them in their ale.
But on this night I felt a strange, dear yearning
to wait in patience in the starlight’s veil.
Under the sky I tarried, somehow knowing
this night was far beyond all nights before.
And then a shepherd from the hills came near me.
“I’m here to see the Babe angels adore.”
Though any day before I would have scoffed him,
within by inmost being I now knew
the Baby born in this my meager stable
was King of all, and Lord of my heart too.
A miracle of love is how I tell it.
Who can explain God’s ways to mortal men?
He spoke to me in whispers still as starlight,
and made a palace of my humble inn.
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