Be Thou My Vision

Thy presence my light.

Photo by Aldo De La Paz on Unsplash

It began as a poem written in Old Irish somewhere between the sixth and eleventh century. In 1905 it was translated into English and in 1912 placed into verse.

There is something profound, even otherworldly, how its truth and beauty have distilled over the rocky roads of time. Hard to appreciate this today in our silicon-obsessed world, I’m afraid.

If I had to explain why some works of art endure and others do not, I would say it has to do with how layered they are. And by layered I mean on how many levels they can activate parts of our brains throwing us into deep unsettled thoughts involving our past, present, and future. Great works of art, for this reason, are timeless.

Now, with timeless thoughts in mind, slowly read, as if for the first time, Be Thou My Vision. We will take its thoughts deeper on the other side.

Be Thou My Vision

English version by Eleanor Hull (1912)

Be Thou my Vision, O Lord of my heart; Naught be all else to me, save that Thou art. Thou my best Thought, by day or by night, Waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light.

Be Thou my Wisdom, and Thou my true Word; I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord; Thou my great Father, I Thy true son; Thou in me dwelling, and I with Thee one.

Be Thou my battle Shield, Sword for the fight; Be Thou my Dignity, Thou my Delight; Thou my soul's Shelter, Thou my high Tow’r: Raise Thou me heav’nward, O Pow’r of my pow’r.

Riches I heed not, nor man's empty praise, Thou mine Inheritance, now and always: Thou and Thou only, first in my heart, High King of Heaven, my Treasure Thou art.

High King of Heaven, my victory won, May I reach Heaven's joys, O bright Heav’n's Sun! Heart of my own heart, whatever befall, Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

It seems especially true today that we are either on the side of this old hymn or we oppose its meaning with every molecule of our being.

We either see ourselves as liberated life forces under the absolute control of whatever it is we choose, which usually boils down to being slaves to our own appetites, or we follow this Lord of men’s  hearts, this High King of Heaven.

These poets (because I credit the creative translators along with the original writer) are really writing about the plain and ancient fact that we can’t have it both ways.

For example, we can’t submit to the powers and authorities who see people as consumers, or worse, as objects, and nothing more. We must decide, and then live out, either that people are here for no particular reason beyond self-preservation or because they (including you and me) have a worth transcending mortality; that we either have inalienable rights or our value is linked to some sort of production quotient or credit score.

Either children and their future lives growing and developing into loving mature productive human beings is worth our defending or it is okay to allow their minds and hearts to be turned over to those who wish to teach them they are here only to seek addictive pleasures.

Either we believe the family is an important institution for the survival of humanity itself, or that most of us must live under the whims and tyranny of the state composed of an elite minority who seek to manage the masses for their own green new deal.

Look one more time at the poem’s final verse.

High King of Heaven, my victory won, May I reach Heaven's joys, O bright Heav’n's Sun! Heart of my own heart, whatever befall, Still be my Vision, O Ruler of all.

This is the poem’s climax. Our victory in life comes, not having defeated some earthly enemy, but when we choose allegiance to this High King of Heaven. This event for some might come today.