“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;
Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”
With cares depressed, and with trials worn,
A persecuted believer knelt;
With drooping heart she had meekly borne
The unkind taunt and the look of scorn,
Till the angel’s smile was like sunshine felt.
“Thy God beholds, and will not forget;
Have patience—the rod will blossom yet!”
Then the seraph hovered where death had been,