Jesus, Saviour, pilot me over life’s tempestuous sea; unknown waves before me roll, hiding rock and treacherous shoal. Chart and compass come from thee; Jesus, Saviour, pilot me.
As a mother stills her child, thou canst hush the ocean wild; boisterous waves obey thy will, when thou sayest to them, “Be still!” Wondrous sov’reign of the sea, Jesus, Saviour, pilot me.
When at last I near the shore, and the fearful breakers roar ‘twixt me and the peaceful rest, then, while leaning on thy breast may I hear thee say to me, “Fear not, I will pilot thee.”
By Edward Hopper
When life acquires a banausic rhythm
When days roll into months;
Just pause.
Listen.
Hear the melody?
Sung by that still, small voice.
I do not write with eloquent words of vatic insight. Instead, I tweet with characters in timezones past. Such is Life 2.0.
A dazzling smile met with disinterest, becomes a wilting simper.
All who are wizen are not wise.
