Let Patience Have Her Perfect Work

I saw a bird alone,
In its nest it sat alone,
For its mate was dead or flown
Though it was early Spring.
Hard by were buds half-blown,
With cornfields freshly sown:
It could only perch and moan
That used to sing:
Droop in sorrow left alone:
A sad sad thing.

I saw a star alone,
In blue heaven it hung alone,
A solitary throne
In the waste of space:
Where no moon-glories are,
Where not a second star
Beams through night from near or far
To that lone place.
Its beauties all unknown,
Its glories all alone,
Sad in heaven’s face.

Doth the bird desire a mate,
Pine for a second mate,
Whose first joy was so great
With its own dove?
Doth the star supreme in night
Desire a second light
To make it seem less bright,
In the shrine of heavenly height
That is above?—

Ah better wait alone,
In nest or heaven alone,
Forsaken or unknown:
Till, time being past and gone,
Full eternity rolls on,
While patience reaps what it has sown
In the harvest-land of love.