Room for the Poor

One cold autumn morning
The leaves had turned brown
A hobo come trampin
Through a small western town

He walked through the church yard
To the preacher's back door
Where he knew there was refuge
And room for the poor

He knocked and then waited
For the precher 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 travelled so far
I'm weary and sore
And 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?