XXXII.

WAITING.

I sing to use the waiting, My bonnet but to tie, And shut the door unto my house; No more to do have I,

Till, his best step approaching, We journey to the day, And tell each other how we sang To keep the dark away.

A sickness of this world it most occasions When best men die; A wishfulness their far condition To occupy.

A chief indifference, as foreign A world must be Themselves forsake contented, For Deity.