When the surf of disappointment washes over me
And eyes darkened by grief fail in hope to see,
When my identity –crafted by my hand—crumbles before
man
And the high places I constructed withering fail to
stand,
When those I love shrink back in fear
And all my efforts fade like mist,
You beckon me come closer.
You pursue though I resist.
When grief so deep enshrouds my soul,
When I ran so far and fast
To shake the depths of the night
Though I knew relief wouldn’t last,
When joy is an elusive butterfly
I could see but n’er catch
And peace a winsome breeze
Never caught in my net.
When my toil exhausted, mind unrelenting,
In never ending work
Up again, must do again, n’er slacking
Never shirk.
Busy. Oh stay busy. Lest your mind come rest on grief.
Busy. Stay so busy.
Navigate tumultuous sea.
Always working. Never shirking.
Like the buzzing of a bee.
Stay busy. Oh so busy. Lest your mind come rest on grief.
But for love could divine rest exert It’s perfect will
Oh so busy but I love you so I grant you to be still.
Be still my child—you may not move—sit right here—toil not.
Be still my child—rest.
Listen. Learn. The sea with peril fraught.
Be still and rest. Lean back and
sleep.
You can entrust Me with your
ease.
The wind and waves still know My name
The surf and sea is mine to tame
You toil for not—dear child so weary
Labor not. Observe my perfect
will.
Dear child, for this season
Come here. Rest.
Be still.
