Waiting, by John Burroughs

Waiting

Serene, I fold my hands and wait,
Nor care I for wind, nor tide, nor 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 tide of destiny.   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 waters know their own and draw
The brook that springs in yonder heights;
So flows the good with equal law
Unto the soul of pure delights.

poems.one - John Burroughs