I AM a little weary of my life—
Not thy life, blessed Father! Or the blood
Too slowly laves the coral shores of thought,
Or I am weary of weariness and strife.
Open my soul-gates to thy living flood;
I ask not larger heart-throbs, vigour-fraught,
I pray thy presence, with strong patience rife.
I used to think that I was always needing to learn “more” patience- that it was a constant lesson in my life, to be repeated again and again. Now thinking of patience in this light, I see it slightly differently. If patience is strong, then it could be that my patience is growing stronger with each new opportunity to be patient. Not that I have to learn patience, again and again, but that in order for my exercise of patience to match that of my Father’s, it must grow greater than mine is capable of being at present. So must it grow through each flexing of that muscle, in every telling of my soul, Peace; be still my weary heart.