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,