’Mid all the traffic of the ways,
Turmoils without, within,
Make in my heart a quiet place,
And come and dwell therein.
A little shrine of quietness,
All sacred to Thyself,
Where Thou shalt all my soul possess,
And I may find myself.
A little shelter from life’s stress,
Where I may lay me prone,
And bare my soul in loneliness,
And know as I am known.
A little place of mystic grace,
Of self and sin swept bare,
Where I may look upon Thy face,
And talk with Thee in prayer.
Turmoils without, within,
Make in my heart a quiet place,
And come and dwell therein.
A little shrine of quietness,
All sacred to Thyself,
Where Thou shalt all my soul possess,
And I may find myself.
A little shelter from life’s stress,
Where I may lay me prone,
And bare my soul in loneliness,
And know as I am known.
A little place of mystic grace,
Of self and sin swept bare,
Where I may look upon Thy face,
And talk with Thee in prayer.
By William Dunkerly, 1917