Be still my heart,
for the compass of this breeze is not yet known.
Hold fast my pulse,
for this rose's thorns are not yet numbered.
Be as an oak, my trembling knees,
for this current's vim has yet to peak.
Be still my heart,
for this swan has yet to sing her song.
Oct 25, 2018
Oct 25, 2018 at 12:30 PM UTC
Be still my heart,
for the compass of this breeze is not yet known.
Hold fast my pulse,
for this rose's thorns are not yet numbered.
Be as an oak, my trembling knees,
for this current's vim has yet to peak.
Be still my heart,
for this swan has yet to sing her song.
