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“Let patience have her perfect work.”

I saw a bird alone,
In its nest it sat alone,
For its mate was dead or flown
Tho' it was early spring.
Hard by were buds half blown,
With cornfields freshly sown;
It could only perch and moan
That used to sing:
Droop in sorrow left alone
A sad sad thing.
I saw a star alone,
In blue heaven it hung alone,
A solitary throne
In the waste of space:
Where no moon glories are,
Where not a second star
Beams thro' night from near or far
To that lone place.
Its beauties all unknown,
Its glories all alone
Sad in heaven's face.
Doth the bird desire a mate,
Pine for a second mate
Whose first joy was so great
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With its own dove?
Doth the star supreme in night
Desire a second light
To make it seem less bright
In the shrine of heavenly height
That is above?—
Ah, better wait alone,
In nest or heaven alone,
Forsaken or unknown;
Till time being past and gone
Full eternity rolls on,
While patience reaps what it has sown
In the harvest land of love.
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