Lord, I'm only thirty-three,
And yet increasingly I feel
Like a time-traveler from the past.
I live in a world of rabid haste,
But I--simple, backward I--
Am far more keen to just "Be still"
Than to run after the incessant drone
Of news, of change, of innovation,
Of the technological connectivity
That has voided true connections.
The tempo of this world
Has reached the feverish whine
Of a missile in descent--
It's full of action, excitement,
The momentum of sheer movement;
But it's empty of contentment.
Not all our changes have been poor:
The world strives toward justice,
Peace, health, and goodwill;
But it seems to have forgotten
Where all those hopes and virtues
Were grounded in the first place.
The man who seeks you on the mountain
Finds you there--but not in the wind,
Not in the fire, not in the earthquake:
He finds you in a gentle whisper.
Gracious God, in your mercy,
Restore to us the wisdom of the wise,
And make the polestar of our quest
Not progress, change, or innovation,
But simply, beautifully, Thou.