WHO BIDES HIS TIME

Who bides his time, and day by day

Faces defeat full patiently,

And lifts a mirthful roundelay

However poor his fortunes be--

He will not fail in any qualm

Of poverty; the paltry dime--

It will grow golden in his palm

Who bides his time.

Who bides his time--he tastes the sweet

Of honey in the saltest tear;

And though he fares with slowest feet

Joy runs to meet him drawing near;

The birds are heralds of his cause,

And like a never-ending rhyme

The roadsides bloom in his applause

Who bides his time.

Who bides his time, and fevers not

In a hot race that none achieves,

Shall wear cool wreathen laurel, wrought

With crimson berries in the leaves;

And he shall reign a goodly king

And sway his hand o'er every clime,

With peace writ on his signet ring,

Who bides his time.

--James Whitcomb Riley.