To weary hearts, to mourning homes,
God’s meekest Angel gently comes.
No power has he to banish pain
or give us back our lost again.
And yet in tenderest love, our dear
and heavenly Father sends him here.
There’s quiet in that Angel glance,
there’s rest in his still countenance!
He mocks no grief with idle cheer,
nor wounds with words the mourner’s ear;
but ills and woes he may not cure
he kindly trains us to endure.
Angel of Patience!
sent to calm
our feverish brows with cooling palm,
to lay the storms of hope and fear,
and reconcile life’s smile and tear,
the throbs of wounded pride to still
and make our own our Fathers will.
O thou who mourns on thy way,
with longings for the close of day.
He walks with thee, that Angel kind,
and gently whispers, “be resigned
bear up, bear on, the end shall tell
the dear Lord ordereth all things well!”
John Greenleaf Whittier. USA (1807-1892)