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"Does Jesus live at your house?"


I heard a child once ask;


her little brow was furrowed


as she struggled with the task,


I saw her eyes were shadowed,


her face marked with a tear;


the voice a wee bit wistful


for the answer she might hear.



"He used to live at our house,


with Mamma Daddy, too.


But now He's gone away somewhere


I don't know what to do,


for Daddy's not the same today,


and Mamma laughs no more,


they never bother much with me,


they say I'm just a bore."



"It didn't use to be this way


with Jesus in our home,


for every night my Daddy came


when all my curls were combed.


To help me say my bedtime prayer,


(and Mamma helped me too.)


And they'd smile and tuck me in,


but now they never do."



"Could you tell me where Jesus is?


For everything seems black:


we want Him in our house again,


we want Him to come back."



"And when He comes we'll keep Him


for we truly need Him so


if Jesus lives at your house,


oh! Don’t ever let Him go!"


The child then turned and left me


while I pursued my way


and thought of many home fires


that could be bright today.



"Does Jesus live at your house?"


How much these words portend


Yea! On this question's answer,


our hopes our all depends."



Author Unknown


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