My House was once a House of Prayer where weary came to pray.
A passer-by could plead his cry just any time of day.

A tramp who roamed the midnight hour could find his time the best,
to kneel in prayer, leave burdens there, while nature sought her rest.

The vilest sinner of them all, longed pardon for his pride.
Would bow alone. His sins atone. No more his guilt to hide.

But now for lust and such a price, from theft, have barred the door.
A yearn for prayer to find Me there. A heart can go no more.