Three doors are in the temple
Where men go up to pray,
And they that wait at the outer gate
May enter by either way.
There are some that pray by asking:
They lie on the Master's breast,
And shunning the strife of the lower life,
They utter their cry for rest.
There are some that pray by seeking:
They doubt where their reason fails,
But their minds' despair is the ancient prayer
To touch the print of the nails.
Father, give each his answer —
Each in his kindred way;
Adapt thy light to his form of night,
And grant him his needed day.
--George Matheson
