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Early Morning | by The Wandering Angel
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Early Morning

Be still, my soul, be still; the arms you bear are brittle,

Earth and high heaven are fixt of old and founded strong.

Think rather,-- call to thought, if now you grieve a little,

The days when we had rest, O soul, for they were long.

 

Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry

I slept and saw not; tears fell down, I did not mourn;

Sweat ran and blood sprang out and I was never sorry:

Then it was well with me, in days ere I was born.

 

Now, and I muse for why 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 prime foundation;

All thoughts to rive the heart are here, and all are vain:

Horror and scorn and hate and fear and indignation--

Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again?

 

- Be Still, My Soul, Be Still, by Alfred Edward Housman

 

(Lincoln Park, The Richmond, San Francisco)

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Taken on July 7, 2007