Medication was making it tough to sleep. This phrase dropped into my mind. I was uncertain as to entire lyrics. You have to love this aspect of the internet. I entered the phrase and then I had entire song lyrics, author etc. Here is my story about Whittier and the song.

Dear Lord and Father of Mankind | John G. Whittier written 1872. I have a book of poetry by him that belonged to my grandfather. We had it recovered as it was starting to fall apart.

1. Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
   Forgive our foolish ways;
   Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
   In purer lives Thy service find,
   In deeper rev’rence, praise.
2. O Sabbath rest by Galilee,
   O calm of hills above,
   Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee
   The silence of eternity,
   Interpreted by love!
3. Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
   Till all our strivings cease;
   Take from our souls the strain and stress,
   And let our ordered lives confess
   The beauty of Thy peace.
4. Breathe through the heats of our desire
   Thy coolness and Thy balm;
   Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire;
   Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
   O still, small Voice of calm.
5. In simple trust like theirs who heard
   Beside the Syrian sea
   The gracious calling of the Lord,
   Let us, like them, without a word,
   Rise up and follow Thee.

Pursuing the topic today I looked it up online. Wikipedia said:

“The text of the hymn is taken from a longer poem, “The Brewing of Soma“. The poem was first published in the April 1872 issue of The Atlantic Monthly. Soma was a sacred ritual drink in Vedic religion, going back to Proto-Indo-Iranian times (ca. 2000 BC), possibly with hallucinogenic properties.

“The storyline is of Vedic priests brewing and drinking Soma in an attempt to experience divinity. It describes the whole population getting drunk on Soma. It compares this to some Christians’ use of “music, incense, vigils drear, and trance, to bring the skies more near, or lift men up to heaven!” But all in vain – it is mere intoxication.

“Whittier ends by describing the true method for contact with the divine, as practised by Quakers: sober lives dedicated to doing God’s will, seeking silence and selflessness in order to hear the “still, small voice”, described in I Kings 19:11-13 as the authentic voice of God, rather than earthquake, wind or fire.

The poem opens with a quote from the Rigveda, attributed to Vasishtha:

These libations mixed with milk have been prepared for Indra:
offer Soma to the drinker of Soma. (Rv. vii. 32, trans. Max Müller).

So I found the poem in my grandfather’s book. It has seventeen stanzas. Reading it reminded me of the Mardi Gras celebrations in New Orleans and elsewhere where the celebrants go carnally nuts just before Lent begins. “Mardi Gras, which is also known as Fat Tuesday, is a day of indulgence that marks the end of Carnival.”

So the hymn writers took various stanzas from his poem and arranged them out of order. I want to add one that they seemed to have left out.

With that deep hush subduing all
Our words and work that drown
The tender whisper of thy call,
As noiseless let thy blessing fall
As fell thy manna down.

Yes, Lord help us to stop using too many words with You. To wait for the tender whisper of Your call, Your blessing as when Your fell manna. Feed us today with Your word of encouragement, challenge and joy. Yes, we are to once again return to stillness.

Oh crap. Remember those Post-its with so much adhesive? One took off some of the print in Grandfather’s old book of poetry, the poem entitled Disarmament. Foolish me used teh Post-it to count the stanzas and figure out what the hymn folks left out. I found the complete poem online and restored the words. But goodness! Was that necessary? Guess with this brain adjusting yet again to a higher dose of medication, I do stupid things.

Things that make this writer go, “GRR!”