To kill, to resuscitate, words are godlike.
If lifted could be from our souls the dark veil,
Each word of each soul would with miracles trail.
Dost wish to speak always to men with sweet words?
Have patience. Impatience must not fret the cords.
’Tis patience beloved is by all men of sense.
Impatience a fault is, of children, intense.55
Who patience exhibits shall mount to heaven’s dome.
Impatience who showeth, tastes wrath that’s to come.
A saint is not hurt, whate’er else may betide,[210]