No towers grand nor throngs that fill the nave
Strike terror in the dark prince’s breast;
He mocks the pomp of marble, gold, and stave,
Where multitudes in idle worship rest.

The bells may ring, the organs thunder loud,
The crowds may surge like rivers to the door;
Yet Satan smiles amid the pious crowd,
For empty hearts leave heaven’s gate ajar.

But lo! when humble souls in secret meet,
Two or three gathered in the Savior’s name,
Their whispered prayers ascend on wingèd feet,
And Jesus comes—His presence kindles flame.

Then trembles hell; the ancient serpent flees,
His kingdom quakes before such quiet might.
No sword of man, no host in panoplies,
Can match the power of contrite souls in light.

A single candle lit by faith sincere
Outshines the blaze of ten thousand torches bright;
In lowly prayer the victory draws near,
And darkness yields unto the Lord’s true light.

O devil, fear the closet, fear the knee,
Fear hearts united, bowed in Jesus’ name;
For where His Spirit dwells in unity,
Thy reign is broken—evermore the same.