To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God's meekest angel gently comes:
No power has he to banish pain,
Or give us back our lost again;
And yet in tenderest love our dear and
Heavenly Father sends him here.
There's quiet in that angel's glance,
There's rest in his still countenance!
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear;
But ills and woes he may not cure
He kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience! Sent to calm
Our feverish brows with cooling palm;
To lay the storms of hope and fear,
And reconcile life's smile and tear;
The throbs of wounded pride to still,
And make our own our Father's will!
Oh thou that mournest on thy way,
With longings for the close of day;
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
And gently whispers, "Be resigned:
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
The dear Lord ordereth all things well!"
-John Greenleaf Whittier
This poem speaks to me like no other that I have ever read. Its eloquence is not lacking in any respect. And I--I struggle to be patient, to temper my longings, fears, frustrations with pure, simple peace. I truly want to "be resigned" and "make (my) own our Father's will". What could be more beautiful than to live in such tranquility and patience!