Will you be my refuge, My haven in the storm, Will you keep the embers warm, When my fire's all but gone? Will you remember, And bring me sprigs of rosemary, Be my sanctuary, 'Til I can carry on, Carry on.
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Our awareness of God is a syntax of the silence in which our souls mingle with the divine, in which the ineffable in us communes with the ineffable beyond us. It is the afterglow of years in which soul and sky are silent together, the out-growth of accumulated certainty of the abundant, never-ebbing presence of the divine. All we are called to do is to let the insight be able to listen to the soul's recessed certainty of its being a parenthesis in the immense script of God's eternal speech.