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