’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.