Classic Poem

He gave the fulness of His wondrous love,
Laid hands upon the sick and raised the dead,
Filled up the empty place of earthly need,
E'en though He had not where to lay His weary head.

Then pity these, Oh! Jesus of the poor!
The weakling lambs that cry within the ditch,
Or shiver in their rags beside the door
That leads up to the temple of the godly rich.

Yea, pity such as these, two little shoes,
So worn and ragged, waiting at the gate,
With wonder for the blessing of the time,
That marvels at the worship of the godly great.

Two little shoes — their pearled rims press to greet
The bitter cold and slush of snow and earth,
A tiptoe in the outer darkness there,
To hear the message of the lowly Saviour's birth.

The " In Excelsis Deos " swell and rise —
Yea, quiver even through the churchyard sod;
The thrice blessed candles on the altar gleam,
And low swung censers lift hosannahs up to God.

Poor little shoes! God seems so far away,
In all the pomp and splendor — far from these;
They never even knew the Christ Child came,
E'en though we sent the message o'er the distant seas.

We feel the baby forms that press our knees,
And thank the Father for the Child that came;
Thy blessing in its fulness overflows;
Oh! God, we give Thee thanks, we praise Thy holy name!

We see, Oh! Lord! the scum upon the earth,
That cumbers goodly ground with want and sin;
Some timely season we will reach a hand,
But now, Oh! Lord! for joy, we may not let them in;

But pity, Lord, the squalid, wretched poor,
Wrapped in the loathsome rags of want and crime;
Put bread into the hungry mouths that cry,
Until our busy hands can find a better time.

Two little shoes beside the temple gate,
For them, for all the earth, dawn comes apace;
Poor tired shoes, a speck upon that earth,
A quivering atom in God's mighty, boundless space.

But they have heard the message, — caught the gleam, —
Like as the sparrow finds the wayside crumb;
So little light, and yet enough to fill
The tiny soul, e'en though the poor pinched lips are dumb;

And they would go — the journey must be far —
To reach the haven of that love-kissed land;
But ah, no cold, no pain, no hunger there,
And He would know her, find her, even take her hand!

Poor little shoes; Ah! Christ! how could we know
Thy little one in anguish lay so near;
We raised Thy Glorias unto the skies,
They filled our hearts, our thoughts, Ah! God! we could not hear!

She lieth close beside the altar stair,
The spark is Thine, the tender mercies, whose?
For Ah! the tiny feet have journeyed far,
And left to earth two ragged little shoes.