Every sorrow and wrong
And knows that deliverance
To the patient belongs.
The world shouts, "Forsaken!"
It cuts like a sword.
But the Spirit whispers softly,
"Wait on Jesus, the Lord."
Yes, the fruit of longsuffering
In confidence waits.
Though our Lord often tarries
He never is late!
This fruit shouts not in city streets
But speaks with words so mild,
Offers a smile to all she meets
And comforts the frightened child.
She tramples not with careless feet
Frail flowers in the wild.
And when the repentant sinner falls
She hastens not to blame,
But lifts her tender voice and calls,
"There's mercy through God's name."
She takes his flickering soul withal
And fans it into flame.
Gentleness! Soft as a summer breeze
Bids harshness to depart.
Lord, hear my pleas from bended knees,
"This fruit Thou must impart!
Pluck it from thy heavenly trees
And plant it in my heart."
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
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