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?