' O God, ' 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
The beauty of Thy peace.
Breathe through the heat of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Speak through the earthquake, wind and fire,
O still small voice of calm.
Words John Greenleaf Whitter.
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