Hope is a thing with father's that perches on the soul
Said the homeless young man standing there strong against the cold
I reached into my pocket said a penny for your poetry
But when I handed him a dollar bill, he was shaking his head at me
And he said these words to me

In my father's house are many mansions
Though tonight some make their beds along the streets
Where I've seen lives still by winter's bitter chill
In my father's house there's mansion for me

Sleep is a silent pleasure behind door's with deadbolt locks
But it's a concrete nightmare chance you take on the streets in a cardboard box
But I know about the eye of the needle what will come to pass
When the least of us shall be first and the first now shall be last
Who's homeless now I ask

In my father's house are many mansions
Though tonight some make their beds along the streets
Where I've seen lives still by winter's bitter chill
In my father's house there's mansion for me

In my father's house are many mansions
Though tonight some make their beds along the streets
Where I've seen lives still by winter's bitter chill
In my father's house there's mansion for me