Be still, my soul
A.E.Housman
1859 to 1936
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Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you are brittle,
Earth and high heaven are fixt old and founded strong.
Think rather,-call to thought, now you grieve a little,
The days when had rest, O soul, for they were long.
Men unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry
I and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;
Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was sorry:
Then it was well with me, in ere I was born.
Now, and I muse for and never find the reason,
I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun.
Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season:
Let us endure an hour and see injustice done.
Ay, look: high heaven and earth ail from the foundation;
All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain:
Horror and scorn and hate fear and indignation-
Oh why did I awake? shall I sleep again?