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?
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 48, first published 1896 [author's text checked 2 times against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Alan Leichtling , "Be still, my soul", published 1971 [baritone and orchestra], from Eleven Songs from "A Shropshire Lad" [text not verified]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2008-06-09
Line count: 16
Word count: 176