The mild, the lowly, and the gentle patience,

Whose eye looks up to God; and ne’er unbends

Its fixed and placid gaze to look upon

The thorns that tear her bleeding breast; who stands

Pale, calm, unmoved amid the storms of life;

Whose soul weeps not for heart’s torture—patience,

The meek-eyed pilgrim of the earth, that child

Of heaven—perfection’s crown.

C. L. Reddell.

For God, who binds the broken heart,