by Sarah Doudney
There are days of silent sorrow
In the seasons of our life;
There are wild, despairing moments,
There are hours of mental strife;
There are times of stony anguish,
When the tears refuse to fall;
But the waiting time, my beloveds
Is the hardest time of all.
Youth and love are oft impatient,
Seeking things beyond their reach;
But the heart grows sick of hoping
Ere it learns what life can teach;
For before the fruit be gathered
We must see the blossoms fall;
And the waiting time, my beloveds,
Is the hardest time of all.
We can bear the heat of conflict,
Though the sudden, crushing blow,
Beating back our gathered forces,
For a moment lay us low;
We may rise again beneath it
None the weaker for the fall;
But the waiting time, my beloveds,
Is the hardest time of all.
For it wears the eager spirit,
As the salt waves wear the stone,
And the garb of hope grows threadbare
Till the brightest tints are flown;
Then amid youth’s radiant tresses
Silent snows begin to fall;
Oh! the waiting time, my beloveds,
Is the hardest time of all.
But at last we learn the lesson
That God knoweth what is best;
For with wisdom cometh patience,
And with patience cometh rest.
Yea, a golden thread is shining
Through the tangled woof of fate;
And our hearts shall thank sweet spirit meekly,
That it taught us how to wait.