Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for,
Patience is!
Patience who
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
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose.
There she
Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day. We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it
To bruise them dearer.
Yet the rebellious
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so. And where is he who more and more
Delicious kindness?—He is patient.
Patience
His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know.
