Patient

I was not patient in that olden time
When my unchastened heart began to long
For bliss that lay beyond its reach; my prime
Was wild, impulsive, passionate, and strong.
I could not wait for happiness and love,
Heaven-sent, to come and nestle in my breast;
I could not realize that time might prove
That patient waiting would avail me best.
“Let me be happy now,” my heart cried out,
“In mine own way, and with my chosen lot;
The future is too dark and full of doubt
For me to tarry, and I trust it not.
Take all my blessings, all I am and have,
But give that glimpse of heaven before the grave”

“Ah me! ” God heard my wayward, selfish cry,
And, taking pity on my blinded heart,
He bade the angel of strong grief draw nigh,
Who pierced my bosom in its tenderest part.
I drank wrath’s wine-cup to the bitter lees,
With strong amazement and a broken will;
Then, humbled, straightway fell upon my knees,
And God doth know my heart is kneeling still;
I have grown patient, seeking not to choose
Mine own blind lot, but take that God shall send,
In which, if what I long for I should lose,
I know the loss will work some blessed end,
Some better fate for mine and me than I
Could ever compass underneath the sky.