Poetry Saturday—Wait

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Cease from disquietude,
Fret not, this is unto thee a preparation time;
Thou must be made in likeness unto Him thou wouldest serve.
Wait, the diamond must be cut ere from its tiny facets
Flash the glory of the sun’s pure ray.
Rain must descend,
Else from yon dull grey bulb springeth no sweet perfumed flower.
Be silent upon God, thy time for service has not come;
Patience, this waiting trial is by Him who loves thee sent;
Be still—He knoweth all, thou knowest that His will is best. —Oswald Chambers

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