| A. E. Housman (1859–1936). A Shropshire Lad. 1896. |
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| XLVIII. Be still, my soul, be still |
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| 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. | |
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| Men loved unkindness then, but lightless in the quarry | 5 |
| 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. | |
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| Now, and I muse for why and never find the reason, | |
| I pace the earth, and drink the air, and feel the sun. | 10 |
| Be still, be still, my soul; it is but for a season: | |
| Let us endure an hour and see injustice done. | |
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| 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— | 15 |
| Oh why did I awake? when shall I sleep again? | |
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