Many are the sayings of the wise, In ancient and in modern books unroll’d, Extolling _patience_ as the truest fortitude; And to the bearing well of all calamities, All chances incident to man’s frail life, Consolitaries writ With studied argument, and much persuasion sought, Lenient of grief and anxious thought: But with th’ afflicted in his pangs their sound Little prevails, or rather seems a tune Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint, Unless he feel within Some source of consolation from above, Secret refreshings, that repair his strength And fainting spirits uphold. _Milton._ Give me care, By thankful _patience_, to prevent despair: Fit me to bear whate’er Thou shalt assign; I kiss the rod, because the rod is Thine. _Francis Quarles._ _Patience_ and resignation are the pillars Of human peace on earth. _Young._ Like some well-fashioned arch thy _patience_ stood, And purchased strength from each increasing load. _Goldsmith._ A dungeon, dark and drear As death, but in its cold and gloomy depths I see a form of beauty, round whose locks A glory plays, that lights the dungeon with A quivering lustre--she is stretched upon The damp cold earth, her head is pillowed on One arm, the while its fellow presses to Her heart a holy volume. O’er her eyes The dove of peace seems brooding, while deep sleep Heaves the long ringlets of the golden hair That cluster on her neck, and sweep the earth: A smile is lingering on her placid lip, As though she dreamt of heaven, the while her brow, As that same heaven, arched and calm, shoots forth A halo--in her breast a dove is nestling, And angel wings are spread to guard her dreams From evil--favoured one of God--who art thou? ’Tis _patience_, the beloved of Heaven! the meek, The mild, the lowly, and the gentle _patience_, Whose eye looks up to God; and ne’er unbends Its fixed and placid gaze to look upon The thorns that tear her bleeding breast; who stands Pale, calm, unmoved amid the storms of life; Whose soul weeps not for heart’s torture--_patience_, The meek-eyed pilgrim of the earth, that child Of heaven--perfection’s crown. _C. L. Reddell._ For God, who binds the broken heart, And dries the mourner’s tear, If faith and _patience_ be their part, Will unto these be near. Let such but say “Thy will be done!” And He who Jesus raised, Will qualify them, through His Son, To say “Thy name be praised!” _Bernard Barton._