"take the dimness of my soul away"

I'm doing some last-minute work on a new setting of another nineteenth-century hymn text for my quartet to play this Sunday at New York's Saint Peter's Church. This particular text was written by an Irish poet named George Croly. There are so many vibrant images in Croly's text that I decided to try to write some new music to attempt to get inside the lyric.

Usually when I set text, I spend some time meditating on phrases that stir something in me. The meditation can involve sitting down at my bedroom desk and seeing what images come to mind from a particular word or phrase, or sitting at the piano and improvising chords/melodies to the text, or walking down 42nd Street and having the text come to mind as I encounter the city. One verse in particular in Croly's poem holds power for me:

I ask no dream, no prophet ecstasies,
no sudden rending of the veil of clay,
no angel visitant, no opening skies,
but take the dimness of my soul away. (emphasis mine)

What does it mean for my soul to be dim? If I really experience my life from my soul (and not just with my mind or my body), then in some respect I am "seeing" my life from my soul. Perhaps my eyesight becomes diminished when I expect the Divine to speak only through "extraordinary" events: the "opening skies," the "dream," the "prophet ecstasies." If God can take the dimness of my soul away, perhaps I can recognize God in an inner stillness, even in the midst of a chaotic day.

Many mornings, I ask God to help me to feel God's presence during the day. But usually the prayer is more of a reminder for myself, to ask for help so that I can be aware of God being as close- closer, even- than my own heartbeat.

God, please take the dimness of my soul away.