He "Had Not Where To Lay His Head."

The conies had their hiding-place,
    The wily fox with stealthy tread
A covert found, but Christ, the Lord,
    Had not a place to lay his head.

The eagle had an eyrie home,
    The blithesome bird its quiet rest,
But not the humblest spot on earth
    Was by the Son of God possessed.

Princes and kings had palaces,
    With grandeur could adorn each tomb,
For Him who came with love and life,
    They had no home, they gave no room.

The hands whose touch sent thrills of joy
    Through nerves unstrung and palsied frame,
The feet that travelled for our need,
    Were nailed unto the cross of shame.

How dare I murmur at my lot,
    Or talk of sorrow, pain and loss,
When Christ was in a manger laid,
    And died in anguish on the cross.

That homeless one beheld beyond
    His lonely agonizing pain,
A love outflowing from His heart,
    That all the wandering world would gain.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper was an African American abolitionist, suffragist, poet, teacher, public speaker, and writer. Born free in Baltimore, Maryland, she was one of the first African American women to be published in the United States. She was active in social reform movements and used her poetry and prose to advocate for abolition and women's rights. Her best-known works include the poetry collection "Forest Leaves" and the novel "Iola Leroy."

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Maceo.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

A Double Standard.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

My Mother's Kiss.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

English

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Ere yet the service half was o'er,
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Twas a night of dreadful horror, -
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'Mid the wastes of ruined households,
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The Sparrow's Fall.

Too frail to soar - a feeble thing -
It fell to earth with fluttering wing;
But God, who watches over all,
Beheld that little sparrow's fall.

'Twas not a bird with plumage gay,
Filling the air with its morning lay;
'Twas not an eagle bold and strong,
Borne on the tempest's wing along.


Only a brown and weesome thing,
With drooping head and listless wing;
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Its dying chirp fell on His ears,
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And spreads a table for us all.

Its mission of song at last is done,
No more will it greet the rising sun;
That tiny bird has found a rest
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Christ Crucified

Now ere I slept, my prayer had been that I might see my way
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The Stable Of Bethlehem.

'Twas not a palace proud and fair
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    Received Him at His birth;
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    No tissues wrought with gold.

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I think I never passed so sad an hour,
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