I came to Je­sus long ago,
All la­den down with sin,
I sought Him long for par­don­ing grace;
He would not take me in.
At last I found the rea­son why
As light came more and more;
I had a shelf with id­ols on
Just in be­hind the door.

Refrain

That shelf be­hind the door—
Don’t use it any more;
But quick­ly clean that cor­ner out
From ceil­ing to the floor;
For Je­sus wants His tem­ple clean,
He can­not bless you more,
Unless you take those id­ols out
From in be­hind the door.

I tore it down and threw it out,
And then the bless­ing came;
But e’er I got the vic­to­ry
And felt the ho­ly flame,
Beelzebub came rush­ing up
And said with aw­ful roar,
You can­not live with­out a shelf
Right here be­hind the door.

Refrain

So many peo­ple of to­day
Are des­ti­tute of pow­er;
’Tis plain to see they can­not stand
Temptation’s try­ing hour.
By way of an apo­lo­gy
My weak­ness is their cry;
’Tis all be­cause of id­ols they
Are us­ing on the sly.

Refrain

Some smoke and chew to­bac­co, and
Some love their fan­cy dress;
Others have wronged their fel­low men,
Refusing to con­fess.
They wond­er why they are not blest
As in the days of yore;
The rea­son why is on the shelf
Just in be­hind the door.

Refrain

That lit­tle shelf be­hind the door
Will cause you much dis­tress;
Especially about the time
You think of be­ing blest.
While plead­ing for the vic­to­ry
Before the Lord in pray­er,
How many times you think about
The id­ols hid­den there.

Refrain

Your soul is dark, you sure­ly know
You have no peace with God;
You daily trem­ble lest you feel
The chast­en­ing of His rod.
The bless­èd Ho­ly Spir­it puts
This quest­ion o’er and o’er:
What are you go­ing to do about
This shelf be­hind the door?

Refrain

You need not go to for­eign lands
To find a house­hold god,
To look upon ido­la­try
You need not go a rod,
But in this land where Gos­pel light
Is shin­ing all around,
If you should look be­hind the door
An id­ol could be found.

Refrain

Some hy­po­crites may look like saints—
From men their id­ols hide;
But what about the judg­ment day
Beyond death’s fear­ful tide?
That hid­den spot be­hind the door
Will be a pub­lic place
Where God and men and an­gels, too,
Shall every id­ol trace.

Refrain