Patience, Hard Thing!

Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asksWants 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 masksOur ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basksPurple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.

We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it killsTo bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious willsOf us we do bid God bend to him even so.And where is he who more and more distilsDelicious kindness?—He is patient. Patience fillsHis crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know.