Be Still, My Soul…

“Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you.” (Psalm 116: 7)

How sweet those words have been today. Especially in those surreal, fragile, aching moments. And at some point I found myself humming, having dug up an old tune from somewhere (probably my childhood)… And my mind sang gentle words to my soul and heavy heart:

Be still, my soul: the Lord is on thy side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to thy God to order and provide;
In ev’ry change he faithful remain.
Be still, my soul: thy best, thy heav’nly friend
Through thorny ways leads to a joyful end.

Be still, my soul: thy God doth undertake
To guide thy future as he has the past.
Thy hope, thy confidence let nothing shake;
All now mysterious shall be bright at last.
Be still, my soul: the waves and winds still know
His voice who ruled them while he dwelt below.

Be still, my soul: when dearest friends depart,
And all is darkened in the vale of tears,
Then shalt thou better know his love, his heart,
Who comes to soothe thy sorrow and thy fears.
Be still, my soul: thy Jesus can repay
From his own fullness all he takes away.

Be still, my soul: the hour is hast’ning on
When we shall be forever with the Lord,
When disappointment, grief, and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot, love’s purest joys restored.
Be still, my soul: when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed we shall meet at last.

–Katharina von Schlegel (*1697)
(to the tune of Sibelius’s Finlandia Hymn)

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About animaginarysong

She sighed as she stared out the window. Then she packed up her things and headed off... walking, peering through spaces between the oak leaves overhead, as her scarf gaily danced on the wind... her feet, the metronome for an imaginary song. She stopped & thought. Her heart longed for nothing more than to get away, see the world, sing, dance, bask in the changing light & colour at sunset, but her head knew better. 'Pity,' thought she. Then, realising that those dreams were no more than distractions, she turned and ran. Whereto, she could not say. But quiet resolve fuelled her haste, her becoming. Now she sits quietly, still becoming. A thoughtful Becoming: running, stumbling, waiting, becoming... always becoming
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