A spiritual concussion, the wasteland of the soul.
Sweet words has God once spoken. My soul, “Be still and know.”
He plows and I am broken. A harvest He must grow.
This ground His tears will open. My soul, “Be still and know.”
My Jesus once forsaken, to the Cross was made to go.
There too will I walk with Him. My soul, “Be still and know.”
The Lion pads beside me. Though night, never alone.
Awake! Dawn-rivers of His kindness! My soul, “Be still and know.”
His voice this lamb will follow. My life King Jesus holds.
Weeping now as one who’s wept with. My soul, “Be still and know.”
