I'll wait this time for love, and patience find,
Who in my youth was never one to stand,
Who all too eagerly would seize command,
And feared no fate, save to be left behind,
But now, with slower foot and quicker mind,
Would undertake each journey better planned,
Would learn to trust in wisdom, whose firm hand
Restrains the hasty heart from leaping blind.
Each passing day of solitude I close
In prayer that love's blest advent may be near;
Yet as I wait, my spirit slowly grows
To see the way peace makes love's purpose clear.
How strange a virtue, though, this patience be:
Its work is rest; its fetters set me free!