Three doors there 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 mind's despair is the ancient prayer
To touch the print of the nails.
There are some that pray by knocking;
They put their strength to the wheel
For they have not time for thoughts sublime;
They can only act what they feel.
Father, give each his answer,
Each in his kindred way;
Adapt thy light to his form of night
And grant him his needed day.
--William Watson.