# Littell's Living Age/Volume 135/Issue 1743/The Song of Patience

* THE SONG OF PATIENCE.
* There was a song I tried in vain to sing!
* It seemed as though I ne'er should learn the ring
* Of the sweet melody; though oft again
* I sought, with tears, to sing that sweet refrain.
* I longed to strike the chords in harmony.
* And pour a song which should fall soothingly
* On lonely, troubled hearts, and lull their fears
* To rest. But all in vain! Hot, burning tears
* Fell from my weary eyes, as, sorely vexed,
* My disappointed heart at last confessed
* My voice might never breathe that song of rest.
* I heard of other voices, raising high
* The same sweet song, that I so wearily
* Had striven to learn for many a long, long year;
* I listened eagerly, that on mine ear
* Might fall the gracious echoes, sweet and low,
* And fondly dreamed that I could quickly know
* And imitate their tone; and gazed upon
* The words till blinding tears did hide them one
* By one from view: and yet, when I essayed
* To strike the measure, oh! how soon I laid
* My harp, in sad despair, upon the ground,
* And felt that never, from its slumbering sound,
* The song of patience I might sweetly wake!
* To earthly masters I my harp did take,
* Imploring them to teach me, but in vain;
* Others might raise the full melodious strain,
* Till angels bent with listening ears again;
* My yearning voice forever hushed must be,
* That blessed song might ne'er be sung by me.
* 0 weary soul! didst thou not see One near?
* Did not his footsteps fall upon thine ear?
* Did not his shadow, gently passing o'er,
* In silent tenderness, thy tear-stained floor,
* Raise thee from that dull, sorrowful despair?
* He lowly bends, and takes thy harp from where
* In sad impatience it was often flung,
* And, tuning it with skilful fingers, sung
* The song I craved to learn. Oh! dear, dear soul,
* Did e'er such melody across thee roll?
* It was a tone that never had its birth
* In this poor, troubled, sin-marred, weary earth.
* I turned to him, with streaming, earnest eyes,
* Imploring him to bid my voice arise
* In that rich harmony. He gently smiled,
* And whispered softly, "Follow me, my child,
* And thou shalt learn to sing the song below,
* Which angels in my mansions ne'er may know."
* I followed him, wiping my tears away,
* Clasping my silent harp, but lo! the way
* Straight in a flaming, angry fire he led,
* Where red-forked tongues shot high above my head,
* Devouring far and wide. Deep anguish filled
* My soul. I would have fled, but through me thrilled
* His loving voice, — "Sing on, my child, and raise
* Thy harp's full melody, e'en in the blaze;
* Those stubborn fingers will with soft power wake
* Chords which this scorching glow can only make;
* The blessed words will sink with deep-graved power,
* And thy best teacher be this fiery hour!"
* I raised my voice, though heartstrings nearly broke,
* With scorched and trembling fingers, slowly woke
* The song I longed to learn! and, 'midst the pain,
* I felt I could, though feebly, raise the strain.
* And now I pass along the world's highway,
* Where restless, woe-worn hearts in darkness stray:
* Oh that I might, though poor and weak my tone,
* Comfort some lost one, wandering alone,
* And sing my song of patience, till the light
* Breaks on his darkly clouded, heavy night.
* The day grows late, the shadows longer fall,
* Soon will the voice from Zion's palace call,
* And songs and harps will soon their echoes swell
* Around the glassy_sea, where God doth dwell,
* And songs of patience, which we sang below,
* In tones of deep, glad love away shall flow!
* Golden Hours.M.