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The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Third-day, January 14, 1868

THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE.

She came to me in a fearful hour When the wild waves mocked my utmost power; Desolation spread its wings around, While lightnings played thro’ the gloom profound; Her snowy robes like a wreath of light, Beamed like a star on that awful night; She laid her hand on my burning brow, And my throbbing heart beat soft and slow. She cried, “I've an errand! but not to save Thy little barque from the stormy wave; But a richer boon is mine to give, A patient skill in the storm to live. The darkest wave is within thy breast, And the fearful storm is the soul’s unrest; Sorrow, my child, has a sure life-lease, Spurn not the rod, ’tis an earnest of peace; Conflict will give thee a nerve for ill Thou wilt surely need; for a darker still, Shall bring thee work in this ‘trial hour,’ Fight and conquer! thou hast the power.”