“No Room for Him …”
Somewhere behind the crackle of the fire,
the music of each old loved Christmas hymn,
the rush of buying gifts,
the tall green tree to trim,
the maddening crowd of Christmas joys
families, food, enchanting toys.
The day explodes in cheer,
wears on in companionship
Our cup’s filled to the brim.
Then dusk, and after
the long day’s crush
in that exhausted hush
we know that once again we’ve made
“no room for Him.”
Taken by permission and adapted from “Clouds are the Dust of His Feet,” by Ruth Bell Graham. ©1992, The Ruth Bell Graham Literary Trust.