Room For The Poor
One cold autumn morning the leaves had turned brown.
An hobo came tramping through a small Southern town.
He walked through the churchyard to the preacher’s back door,
Where he knew there was refuge and room for the poor.
He knocked and then waited for the preacher to come.
With just a kind word for a broken-down bum.
The preacher arrived and looked out in dismay,
With a few angry words he drove him away.
Oh if you won’t offer me something to eat.
May I sit here a moment and rest my poor feet.
I’ve traveled so far, now I’m weary and sore.
Oh say up in Heaven is there room for the poor?
Is there room for the poor across the divide.
Where bums don’t go hungry and freezing outside?
Or will they be driven from the saviour’s back door.
Oh say up in Heaven is there room for the poor?
copyright Bruce Phillips
One cold autumn morning the leaves had turned brown.
An hobo came tramping through a small Southern town.
He walked through the churchyard to the preacher’s back door,
Where he knew there was refuge and room for the poor.
He knocked and then waited for the preacher to come.
With just a kind word for a broken-down bum.
The preacher arrived and looked out in dismay,
With a few angry words he drove him away.
Oh if you won’t offer me something to eat.
May I sit here a moment and rest my poor feet.
I’ve traveled so far, now I’m weary and sore.
Oh say up in Heaven is there room for the poor?
Is there room for the poor across the divide.
Where bums don’t go hungry and freezing outside?
Or will they be driven from the saviour’s back door.
Oh say up in Heaven is there room for the poor?
copyright Bruce Phillips
Performed by Hal Cannon