Shut Thou the door, O Lord! for only Thou
Dost know the curious working of the lock
Which firmly holds in stay its ponderous weight;
And all the thousand covered, secret springs
Which lie concealed within its strange embrace,
Of workmanship and art, akin alone
To holy things of God, and known to Him,
Because the secret powers, needed thus
To close these ever restless portals, must
Come alone indeed from such as wrought,
In labor, craft and skill divinely wise,
Its every joint and beam and hinge and side.

Shut Thou the door, 0 Lord! shut Thou the door!
And ever, ever, let there stay without
The thousand surging cares and worrying things,
Which, entering there, would so distract and make
Instead of silent calm, and peace and joy,
A harried turmoil-seething, restless, full
Of thoughts that would destroy the tranquil rest
Which Thou couldst simply by Thy presence give,
If only once the door were shut, and we
Alone within the quiet there could live.

He hears my feeble cry, and shuts the door;
And thus we dwell together, He and I,
Within the quiet, secret place of rest,
Where are revealed the things He hath prepared
So rich, divinely blessed, and full of charms,
They hold enchanted by their radiance bright
My heart, and will, and life to His control,
Until, compelled by passion’s heat, and ravished
By the sight, I yield my all to Him,
And lose myself and weakness in His might.
I rest myself in Him; He shuts the door.