“The Son of Man hath not where to lay His head.”—Matt. 8:20.
“In the day-time He was teaching in the Temple, and at night He went out, and abode in the mount that is called the Mount of Olives.”—Matt. 21:37.
THE daylight fades, the evening shades prevail,
All homeward turn for shelter and for rest.
Hushed are the sounds of life in wood and dale,
Red glows the west.
The night winds sigh, the darkness covers all.
Homeless He wanders, or in desert lone
Lies down to rest, where gloomy shadows fall
And beasts make moan.
All, all around is His, yet hath He not
A home where He may rest, His wanderings o’er.
The bird that builds her nest may choose the spot
Nor wander more.
His home of glory left, His crown laid by,
No place hath He where He may lay His head.
The fox may seek his hole, and warm may lie
Secure from dread.
But He, resolved all mortal griefs to know,
A stranger lived, a stranger’s woes to bear,
That homeless, friendless to His feet may go
And not despair.
E. S.