Patience Perfected
Better is the end than the beginning.
Better is the patient than the proud.
Folly boasts of bygone strength,
While Wisdom's heart, though sickly struck,
With hope of light now long-deferred,
Sees and knows the Maker's trust:
His people are his portion,
His children his preferred.
She bears the futile burden,
No power of her own can produce the flower's bloom.
Yet heaven's Word pours out with power,
Working wonders,
In the darkness of her womb:
Fruit conceived and held in secret,
Hidden from the piercing eye,
Made ready to breach, breath ready to reach,
Formed in darkness, fashioned for light.
Groaning too deep for words,
Crafted into cries of life,
As the Maker's Breath enters,
Alive to reside, alive to abide.
On earth as in heaven, his glory at home.
He set apart the house in the very marrow of its bones,
For at the foundation, he found it fitting to inscribe:
His name, his name, his name alone!
Spirit in his temple dwelling,
The Word supreme the Word enthroned,
At the agonizing hour of his revelation,
When the children of the Lord Most High,
Rise to see forever, finally to know,
His holiness with clarity,
Revealed to naked eye;
These beheld by all creation longing,
Having persevered to see and know,
His perfect rest, his perfect love,
His patience perfect even as he promised,
For those he kept, for those he chose.
Her desire fulfilled reveals a tree of life,
Multiplied to become a fruitful orchard,
Filled to fullness with his goodness,
Abundant thorns no longer crowning torture:
A garden kept and multiplying medicine,
Healing every nation,
Their praise no longer reticent;
With the glory of good news,
Her voice rings aloud!
At the glory of her news,
Every knee is bowed.
Wisdom knows a promise kept.
Her children rise and call her blessed.
Better is the end of term,
Our futility being finished and forgotten,
Better than the many painful piercings,
Of our many prideful passions.
Better is the end of term,
Futility not reigning, futility not lasting.
For the Maker's Sower sowed,
And his seed begot new life.
With tears the Sower sowed,
A flood of pain and strife:
Be born again to live with him,
Forever in his love!
Be born again to live for him,
By the power of his blood!
Deeper pierces the finale's final thrust into the heart,
Deeper than the oracle of the orator's opening remarks,
Which set the stage and gave the parts:
Though a servant hears, he will not understand.
That his heart may truly heed,
Indeed he must receive,
Seven-fold the holy rod,
To open wide by discipline,
By the very hand of God,
The innermost chamber,
Where the blood of Jesus cries, his voice the only sound,
Where the truest treasure is first lost, then forever truly found.
Better is the end of a thing than its beginning,
and the patient in spirit is better than the proud in spirit.
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