“O Thou who art my quietness, my deep repose,My rest from strife of tongues, my holy hill,Fair is Thy pavilion, where I hold me still.Back let them fall from me, my clamorous foes,Confusions multiplied;From crowding things of sense I flee, and Thee I hide.Until this tyranny be overpast,Thy hand will hold me fast;What though the tumult of the storm increase,Grant to Thy servant strength, O Lord, and bless with peace.”