• Author: Burroughs, John
• Editor: B-7413
• Newspaper: The Umpire volume 5
• Page Number:
• Date: 4 12 1916
• Tags:
• poetry

WAITING Serene, I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind, or tide, or sea; I rave no more 'gainst time or fate, For lo! My own shall come to me. 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. Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me; No wind can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tides of destiney. What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years; My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of tears. The water knows their own and draw The brook that springs in yonder height, So flows the good with equal law Unto the soul of pure delight. The stars come nightly to the skys; The tidal wave unto the sea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, Can keep my own away from me. —John Burroughs.