Patience, Hard Thing

  • “Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,”

  • Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
  • But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
  • Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;
  • To do without, take tosses, and obey.
  • Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
  • Nowhere.   Natural heart’s ivy, Patience masks
  • Our ruins of wrecked past purpose.   There she basks
  • Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.
  • We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
  • To bruise them dearer.  Yet the rebellious wills
  • Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
  • And where is he who more and more distils
  • Delicious kindness?—He is patient.  Patience fills
  • His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know.