Psalm 131:2

     "Surely I have composed and quieted my soul;
     Like a weaned child rests against his mother,
     My soul is like a weaned child within me." (Ps. 131:2)

Make of my soul a twilight-place,

Quiet calmness, evening-touch,

The fever-pace, still, at sun-slant,

Pride’s poor man leans upon his crutch.

To listen, until I am taught,

To wait, until my soul has heard,

In silence, for my empty thoughts,

To speak, to say I have no words.

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