Midst stress and toil of troubled days,
Midst babbling tongues and traffic's roar,
A golden thread runs through the maze
Straight to a sweetly secret door,
Where one may safely enter in
And find repose from worldly din.
The press of cares, which sometimes seem
To make of hope a bitter mock,
Here vanish with the Adam-dream
And lose their vaunted claim to shock;
While sorrow, sickness, and decay
Upon its threshold turn away.
Prayer's unlocked portal still shuts out
Self's appetites and pride and greed,
And silences the word of doubt,
Yet offers balm for every need.
And who would pass this portal wide
Has pure desire close by his side.
Within are love and life, aglow
With inspiration full and free,
The privilege to truly know
The nature of reality;
For now Christ, Truth, is waiting there,
Within the secret door of prayer.
