2 He is the Lord,
An outcast lying in a stall;
For in the inn no room is left,
While the unworthy feast instead;
He of all welcome is bereft,
And hath not where to lay His head.
1 What fitter place could I prepare,
What better cradle, say, is there
Than this my heart, if that were fair?
2 Thou hast divined! A nobler part
In man or angel, or of earth, or skies,
There is not, than a broken heart;
The which thy God may ne’er despise.