 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
87
WAIT.
How often to lie still is to be wise,—How many times is Patience as a charm
That wins a gracious blessing from the skies
Richer than all on Labour's bustling farm—
How often to do more is to do harm!
So, when thy seeds are wedded to the soil,
And thou hast well done duty, and the lot
Is cast into the lap, consider not
How next to make all speed by thought and toil,—
But rather wait; the power of faith is there,—
Faith that achieves all conquest, takes all spoil,—
Faith, the great reaper of the crop of pray'r;
In faith be still; lest unbelieving care,
By overstriving, all good efforts foil.
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |