‘Nearer, my God, to thee.’” I’m writing it down as Lark’s singing voice cuts me short: Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down, darkness be over me, my rest a stone My pen stops partway through writing God. I turn and look at Lark, her expression peaceful as the melody tumbles from her lips: yet in my dreams I’d be nearer, my God, to thee; nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee …
