“O Thou who art my quietness, my
deep repose,
My rest from strife of tongues,
My rest from strife of tongues,
my holy hill,
Fair is Thy pavilion, where I hold me still.
Back let them fall from me,
Fair is Thy pavilion, where I hold me still.
Back let them fall from me,
my clamorous foes,
Confusions multiplied;
From crowding things of sense I flee, and Thee I hide.
Until this tyranny
Confusions multiplied;
From crowding things of sense I flee, and Thee I hide.
Until this tyranny
be overpast,
Thy hand will
Thy hand will
hold me fast;
What though the tumult of the storm increase,
Grant to Thy servant strength,
What though the tumult of the storm increase,
Grant to Thy servant strength,
O Lord,
and bless with peace.”
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