You were a Hidden Treasure,
And created creation for Your Pleasure,
For You wanted to be found.

And though too small for You is Infinite Space,
Yet in the pauper's heart You say there's place;
So of Yourself a measure,
You buried in my heart's ground.

But myself has built such mountains tall,
And carved such valleys and chasms withal,
That are girded all around
With seventy thousand veils I've strung,
And seventy thousand more I hung
With each one I tore down.
 
Now I must unfound
The mountains with my nails
And rung by rung the veils,
To beat a path to that hallowed ground
 Where You're waiting to be found.

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