If you'll look in my word, it's written there,
My house shall be called a house of prayer,
Where you can enter and find my presence every day,
If you don't find me when you go,
And you leave empty, you'll know
Your attitude needs adjustment when you pray.
You don't have worship on your mind,
But you have thoughts of every kind,
That keep intruding as you try to use your voice.
Praise and prayer won't come,
While your tongue is feeling numb
Because within you haven't made the right choice.
You let people think you're saved
But your hand you haven't waved
When the Pastor asks if someone needs the Lord.
What He says moves your heart,
But because you've played a part
Your hands remain hanging stiff as a board.
You stay quiet as a mouse
When you come into my house
and move your lips to look as though you pray,
But the Holy Spirit isn't fooled
If your heart he Hasn't ruled,
You can't feel or hear from him in any way.
You've heard the call to you before,
You always hurried through the door
Hoping no one could see the emotion in your face.
Because you didn't raise your hand
The fires of Hell were fanned
Where you seem to be headed at a rapid pace.
You don't need an urgent pull
And the Altar is never full
And you know that you don't need a special prayer.
Without any calls or pleas,
Just get down upon your knees,
Then speak my name and I will meet you there.
By F. W. (Lucky) Hope
