A Prayer For One Beloved In Awful Circumstances

O Thou Who art my quietness,
my deep repose,
My rest from strife of tongues,
my holy hill,
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 in Thee hide,
until this tyranny be overpast,
Thy hand will hold me fast;
What though the tumult of the storm increase,
Grant to Thy servant strength, O Lord, and bless with peace.
~Amy Carmichael

Photo: In Tuscany, by Cindy Swanson