I've waited at the temple stair
For Israel's comfort to be there
The Spirit told me I'd not die
Till I had seen Him with my eye
I buried friends, I buried kin
And still the Christ had not come in
I stood by every open grave
Not yet, I said, not till He came
Then on a day like any day
The Spirit led me in that way
A carpenter, his wife, two doves
A baby, and I knew enough
Now let Your servant go in peace
According to Your word, release
For I have seen Your saving light
A light to lighten Gentile night
I'm ready now
I blessed them, and I told her plain
That many fall and rise again
He'll be a sign that men oppose
And thoughts of hearts will be exposed
Now let Your servant go in peace
According to Your word, release
For I have seen Your saving light
A light to lighten Gentile night
I'm ready now
I held the One who holds the world
His hand around my finger curled
I did not find Him, I was brought
To the salvation You had wrought
A sword will pierce your own soul too
I held the One they'd pierce right through
Now let Your servant go in peace
According to Your word, release
Mine eyes have seen Your saving light
And I am ready for the night
I'm ready now
I said not yet at every grave
Now I am ready for my own
Most people never know when they're going to die. Simeon was told one thing about it: not yet.
He lived in Jerusalem about two thousand years ago. Luke, the doctor who wrote the Gospel that carries his name, gives us only a few sentences about him. He was "just and devout," meaning he lived right and took God seriously. He was "waiting for the consolation of Israel," which means he was waiting for God to keep a very old promise to comfort His people by sending a rescuer, the one the prophets called the Messiah, or in Greek, the Christ.
Then Luke adds the detail the whole song hangs on. God's Spirit had told Simeon he would not die until he had seen that rescuer with his own eyes.
Think about what that does to a life. Every morning is a question: is it today? Every funeral he attends, every friend he buries, he stands at the grave and thinks: not me, not yet. That is the first half of the song: a man waiting at the edge of other people's graves.
Then one day the Spirit nudges him toward the temple, the great center of worship in Jerusalem. Nothing about the morning looks special. A young couple has come in with their first baby to do what the law of Moses required after a firstborn son: present him to God and offer a sacrifice.
Luke tells us what they offered: a pair of turtledoves or two young pigeons. That small detail matters, because the law allowed birds instead of a lamb for families who couldn't afford a lamb (Leviticus 12:8). So the parents of the Son of God walked in as poor people.
The couple is Joseph and Mary. The baby is Jesus. Simeon knows.
Simeon takes the baby in his arms and prays one of the most famous prayers in history. In the old King James wording, it begins: "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word."
In plain English: Lord, now You can let me go. You promised, and You kept it.
The word Luke uses for "depart" is the word for a master releasing a servant at the end of his shift, or setting a slave free. Simeon has been on duty his whole life, watching for the Christ. Now he has seen Him, so he asks to be dismissed. He isn't afraid of dying anymore. He is ready.
He gives the reason in the next line: "For mine eyes have seen thy salvation." Notice what he calls the baby. Not a sign of salvation, or a teacher of it. The child is the salvation. Rescue, for Simeon, is not a set of ideas; it's a person he can hold.
And this rescue isn't only for his own nation. He calls the child "a light to lighten the Gentiles," which means everyone who isn't Jewish, including most people who will ever hear this song.
Simeon doesn't stop at joy. He turns to Mary and tells her two hard things. This child will cause many to fall and many to rise; people will be divided over Him. And "a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also."
Thirty-three years later, Mary would stand at the foot of a cross and watch her son die, and a Roman soldier would push a spear into His side. The baby Simeon held is the man they would pierce. The song's second bridge says exactly that. Simeon's peace is not cheap. It rests on a child who was born to die.
Here is the part that matters most. Simeon didn't go looking for Jesus and find Him by being clever or good enough. The promise was given to him. The Spirit brought him to the temple at the right hour. The salvation he saw was, in his words, the one God had "prepared." All Simeon did was hold out his arms. That is what receiving a gift looks like.
That's why the song's bridge says, "I did not find Him, I was brought."
And that's how anyone becomes ready for death, not by having done enough but by having been given Christ. The song ends where every life ends, at a grave. For years Simeon said "not yet" at everyone else's funeral. Now, holding the child, he can say he is ready for his own.
That readiness is open to anyone who will receive the same gift. The child Simeon held grew up, died, and rose again, and He still says to the tired and afraid: come to Me.
The music follows the story. The verses are sparse and echoing, like a man waiting in a big, quiet building. When Simeon takes the child in his arms, the drums and guitars crash in. The ending falls back to one guitar and one voice, a man alone at a grave, no longer afraid.
Luke 2:22–39 joins two Mosaic requirements: the mother's purification forty days after the birth of a son (Leviticus 12:2–4) and the presentation of the firstborn to the Lord (Exodus 13:2, 12). Luke's quotation of the offering, "a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons" (2:24, citing Leviticus 12:8), is the poor family's concession in place of a lamb. The detail anticipates 2 Corinthians 8:9: the Lamb Himself is presented, and His parents cannot afford a lamb.
Simeon belongs to Luke's cluster of faithful remnant figures in chapters 1–2, alongside Zechariah, Elizabeth and Anna, through whom the Spirit speaks before Pentecost. He is "just and devout," "waiting for the consolation of Israel," and the Holy Spirit is "upon him" (2:25). The consolation (paraklēsis) echoes Isaiah 40:1, "Comfort ye, comfort ye my people," whose Greek translation uses the same root. Simeon is waiting for Isaiah's second half to begin.
The song's chorus rests on the Greek of 2:29: nyn apolyeis ton doulon sou, despota. Three details shape the lyric.
First, the address is despota, sovereign master, the word for the owner of slaves, and Simeon names himself doulos, slave. The prayer is the language of a servant whose watch is over.
Second, apolyeis is the verb for dismissal or release: of a servant at the end of duty, of a prisoner, of a soldier from his post. Hence the chorus's "release."
Third, the verb is present indicative. The King James "lettest" captures it better than many modern renderings: this is less a request than a statement. Now You are releasing Your servant. The promise of 2:26 has been fulfilled, so the dismissal is already underway.
The ground is "mine eyes have seen thy salvation" (2:30), the neuter sōtērion, the word of Isaiah 40:5 in the Greek ("all flesh shall see the salvation of God," which Luke quotes at 3:6) and of Isaiah 52:10. Simeon identifies the salvation with the person of the child. The vision is "prepared before the face of all people" (2:31), and its scope is Isaiah 42:6 and 49:6: "a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel." The universality here is of proclamation, not a universalism of salvation; the very next verses promise division.
The oracle to Mary (2:34–35) draws on Isaiah 8:14–15 and 28:16. The child is "set," appointed, for the fall and rising again of many, and for "a sign which shall be spoken against." Luke's word for "set" carries the divine appointment that Acts 2:23 makes explicit: "delivered by the determinate counsel and foreknowledge of God."
The sword through Mary's soul is best read as her grief at the cross (John 19:25). Reformed exegesis has resisted the medieval elaboration of the text into Mary's co-suffering with redemptive value; the sword pierces her, but it is the Son who is pierced for transgressions (Isaiah 53:5, John 19:34, Zechariah 12:10). The song's second bridge keeps the order straight: Mary's soul is pierced; Christ is pierced right through. The purpose clause, "that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed," makes the cross the place where every heart is exposed for what it is.
The bridge's first line is a Chalcedonian claim, and a specifically Reformed one. Simeon holds the eternal Son in true human flesh, one person in two natures without confusion or division (WCF 8.2). But the Son did not cease upholding all things by the word of His power while lying in Simeon's arms (Hebrews 1:3, Colossians 1:17).
Calvin states it directly: the Son of God descended from heaven without leaving heaven, was carried in the womb, and still filled the world as from the beginning (Institutes 2.13.4). Later Lutheran critics called this the extra Calvinisticum, and the Heidelberg Catechism (Q48) confesses it: the divinity is not limited and is everywhere present, yet is truly in the humanity it has assumed. The paradox the lyric enjoys, a baby's hand curled around an old man's finger while that same Person holds the old man in being, is not sentiment. It's Christology.
The bridge's second couplet, "I did not find Him, I was brought / To the salvation You had wrought," reflects the narrative's grammar. Every initiating verb belongs to God. The revelation is given to Simeon by the Holy Spirit (2:26). He comes "by the Spirit" into the temple (2:27), so the hour and the meeting are providential (WCF 5.1). The salvation is the one God "prepared" (2:31). Simeon's one act is to take the child into his arms, which is the posture of faith as receiving and resting (WCF 14.2).
A precision note: Simeon is already a regenerate believer when the narrative opens; the Spirit is upon him. The bridge is not describing his conversion but his encounter with the incarnate Christ. Yet the principle holds at both levels: even his waiting was the fruit of grace (WCF 10.2).
The outro, "Now I am ready for my own," is the confessional point of the whole song. Simeon's peace in facing death rests on nothing in himself; it rests on having seen the salvation of God. That is the Heidelberg Catechism's first question in narrative form: my only comfort in life and death is that I am not my own, but belong to my faithful Savior Jesus Christ. It is also Paul's "to die is gain" (Philippians 1:21) and the Westminster Confession's teaching that the souls of the righteous, at death, are received into the highest heavens (WCF 32.1).
The church has long treated the Nunc Dimittis as a night prayer for exactly this reason. It became the canticle of Compline and of Anglican Evening Prayer, and a metrical setting was included in the Genevan Psalter. Christians have sung Simeon's words at the end of each day as rehearsal for the end of life.
The song adds detail Luke does not give, and it should be read accordingly:
None of these touches the substance of the text. They serve the song's single claim: the man who has seen God's salvation, and has it given into his arms, can face his own grave in peace.