Still, still with Thee
Still, still with Thee, when purple morn is breaking,
When the bird wakens and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee.
Alone with Thee amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born;
Alone with Thee in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
Still, still with Thee, as to each new-born morning
A fresh and solemn splendour still is given,
So doth this blessed consciousness awaking,
Breathe each day nearness unto Thee and heaven.
When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer;
Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o’ershadowing,
But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.
So shall it be at last in that bright morning
When the soul wakens and life’s shadows flee;
O, in that hour, more fair than daylight’s dawning,
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee.
Words by Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe (1812-1896) in Henry Beecher's
Plymouth Collection, 1855.
Stowe habitually rose at 4:30 in the morning; the lyrics speak to her early
morning walks in the silence before the rush of day.