How deafening the waiting silence!
Anxiety the cold substitute for comfort warm
Worry the kin long-lost; unwelcomingly found
Will the auld enemy once again draw near?
Perish the thought! for Thou art in a better place
Perfection is such vanity; Desire doth it ruin so
For such wonders greet Thee should Thou seeketh them not
Or would Thou let Pretense steal what the heart knoweth?
