Sunday, April 29, 2007


Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds; weary his time, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.*

Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart's ivy, Patience masks**
Our ruins of wrecked purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes*** and seas of liquid leaves all day.

We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
And where is He who more and more distills
Delicious kindness?-- He is patient. Patience fills
His crisp combs****, and that comes those ways we know.
---Gerard Manley Hopkins, 1885

*we don't like to be 'patient' waiting for 'patience'; we strive & try to make it happen
**ivy covers over ruined homes & covers the cracks beneath
****God's sweet patience, like honeycombs

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