Time was when waiting seemed such idle play—
To fold the hands and, hoping still, to weave
The future's gold and silver threads, and leave
All that we dreamed by night, or wished by day,
For other hands to do. Misunderstood,
God's will seemed seldom good! Pain, sorrow, care,
Seemed sent from heaven to purge and make us good,
And fit us for a future journey there.
But now, the skies have brightened. All the mist
That hung around earth-theories has fled;
The light has come! And every stone is kissed
By some immortal gleam of Truth, instead.
Great joy! to know that waiting is not vain;
Supreme content! to list Love's voice again;
To waive aside anxiety and fear;
And, waiting, know that good is always here!
