Jean Ingelow - Waits Quotes

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The while He sits whose name is Love,
And waits, as Noah did, for the dove,
To wit if she would fly to him. He waits for us, while, houseless things,
We beat about with bruised wings
On the dark floods and water-springs,
The ruined world, the desolate sea;
With open windows from the prime
All night, all day, He waits sublime,
Until the fulness of the time
Decreed from His eternity.

Jean Ingelow

I wish, and I wish that the spring would go faster,
Nor long summer bide so late;
And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster,
For some things are ill to wait.

Jean Ingelow