An Angel Of Patience
by
BESIDE the toilsome way,
Lowly and sad, by fruits and flowers unblest,
Which my lone feet tread sadly, day by day,
Longing in vain for rest,
An angel softly walks,
With pale, sweet face, and eyes cast meekly down,
The while from withered leaves and flowerless stalks
She weaves my fitting crown.
A sweet and patient grace,
A look of firm endurance true and tried,
Of suffering meekly borne, rests on her face,
So pure–so glorified.
And when my fainting heart
Desponds and murmurs at its adverse fate,
Then quietly the angel’s bright lips part,
Murmuring softly, “Wait!”
“Patience!” she meekly saith–
“Thy Father’s mercies never come too late;
Gird thee with patient strength and trusting faith,
And firm endurance wait!”