When I go walking on the street
My Guardian Angel walks behind.
I hear the rustling of his feet.
I feel the movement of his mind.
His heart is mine. I hear it beat.
My heart is his and he is kind.
I hear the rustling of his feet.
I feel the whirring of his wings.
Be still my soul, my body sings,
Be still, attentive and discreet.
The Love of God is very near,
That sees into the heart of things.
My heart is his. His heart is mine.
We pray for Grace to flow like wine,
The Grace that knows and understands,
Implicit in the touch of hands,
Where Principalities and Powers
Combine to bless our golden hours.
My heart is his. His heart is mine.
Two hammering hearts, four feet, six wings.
Our intercessions are divine.
My soul be still, be still and know.
Our stillness is the port of kings.
Mark as we go. Mark as we go.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
Postliberalism and Theology
After my musings about postliberalism went to the press last month (“What Does “Postliberalism” Mean?”, January 2026),…
In the Footsteps of Aeneas
Gian Lorenzo Bernini had only just turned twenty when he finished his sculpture of Aeneas, the mythical…
The Clash Within Western Civilization
The Trump administration’s National Security Strategy (NSS) was released in early December. It generated an unusual amount…
