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PATIENCE. 167 
OXEYE. 
Buphthalinum. 
Language PATIENCE. 
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. 
Tliere'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 Iparns 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. 
0, thou who 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 ! 
= 
J. G. W. 
