In weary weakness, in restless pain,
For tedious months had the sufferer lain,
But his pale face beamed at the whispered word:
“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;
Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”
Then the angel flew where a mother prayed
For a son on a course of evil bent;
She wept—half trustful and half afraid,
Beseeching Him who alone could aid;
And to her was the message of comfort sent—