I find myself seeking,
Or perhaps just dreaming,
From night to night again.
About a calm quiet,
That can silence the riot,
And give me peace within.

The noise of this life
Cuts like a knife
My tattered, worn out soul.
The needs of so many,
And their fears aplenty,
Leave me battered and cold.

How am I to truly hear
God’s quiet voice so near
Without an inward Peace?
How am I to truly speak
God’s Holy Word each week
When no one cares the least?

In the Shepherd’s loving arms
Free from all the loud alarms
Is Peace for a Pastor’s soul.
And though I sometimes run away
And though I sometimes go astray
The Shepherd’s arms will hold me in the fold.

Gregory Neal +
September, 1995