Deep in the secret heart of Life there lies
A wondrous land, a garden of the soul;
Unheard, without, the tides of passion roll,
And from its portals human suffering flies.
The gate stands ever open, and the flowers
The glory of their beauty offer free,
We gather fruit or blossom from the tree,
For all that we can take and use is ours.
And though our feet the beaten highways tread,
The barren pathway blooms with budding rose;
Through thirsty lands the healing water flows,
And in the wilderness we still are fed.
—William Henry Phelps
—Basil Wilberforce, D. D.