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  • Writer's pictureLeah Jones
    • Aug 8, 2007
    • 1 min read

Three stanzas, not by me.


Drop thy still dews of quietness, Till all our strivings cease; Take from our souls the strain and stress, And let our ordered lives confess Thy beauty of Thy peace.

Breathe through the hearts of our desire Thy coolness and Thy balm; Let sense be numb, let flesh retire; Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire, O still, small voice of calm!

Hugh told me to Google it. I did. You can read the complete Whittier poem which apparently also shows up in hymnals. This is the bit that isn’t quite so “our father” oriented…

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