The waters know their own and draw The brook that springs in yonder height So flows the good with equal law Unto the soul of pure delight.
What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years My heart shall reap where it hath sown, And garner up its fruit of tears. Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me No wind can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tide of destiny. I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face. Serene, I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea I rave no more ‘gainst time or fate, For lo! my own shall come to me. Oh! why is it so hard for Man to wait? to sit with folded hands, Apart, amid the busy throng, And hear the buzz and hum of toil around To see men reap and bind the golden sheaves Of earthly fruits, while he looks idly on, And knows he may not join, But only wait till God has said, “Enough!” And calls him home! And thus the old man dreams, And then awakes awakes to hear The sweet old song just dying On the pulsing evening air: “When other helpers fail, And comforts flee, Lord of the helpless, Oh, abide with me!” 3. Excerpt From “An Old Man’s Dreams”Īnd then the old man thinks How on a night like this, when faint And sweet as half-remembered dreams Old Whippoorwill Falls did murmur soft Its evening psalms, when fragrant lilies Pointed up the way her Christ had gone, God called the wife and mother home, And bade him wait. They are the runners in the sun, Breathless and blinded by the race, But we are watchers in the shade Who speak with Wonder face to face. Men and women pass in the street Glad of the shining sapphire weather, But we know more of it than they, Pain and I together.
I am alone with Weakness and Pain, Sick abed and June is going, I cannot keep her, she hurries by With the silver-green of her garments blowing. Out of the window a sea of green trees Lift their soft boughs like the arms of a dancer, They beckon and call me, “Come out in the sun!” But I cannot answer. Poems about Waiting for Him to Come Homeįamous waiting poems, including works by renowned poets, capture the essence of waiting and offer insight into the human experience.
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