1 Thou, the Eternal Son
Though of Thy glory shorn;
Thou, very God of very God
Though Man of Mary born—
2 Is there no room for Thee
Even in Bethl’hem's inn?
Dost Thou who comest to Thine own
From them no welcome win?
3 Dost Thou the bitter cross
So eagerly embrace
For us, and we for Thee prepare
No poorest dwelling place?
4 No room for Thee? No room
For love and sacrifice
Such as no mortal could conceive
And none but Thou devise?
5 O sweetest Jesus, hear!
Though I am poor indeed,
I know I can provide a spot
To meet Thy lowly need.
6 Such love as Thine must crave,
Above all other things,
The love of those on whom ’tis spent,
And all that loving brings.
7 For love is shelter, food,
A bed of down, a throne;
Its very breath obedience
To him whom it doth own.
8 Come, sweetest Jesus, then,
In this poor heart abide;
And I shall love Thee more and more
Till love is satisfied.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #15161