Who bides his time, and day by day <br />Faces defeat full patiently, <br />And lifts a mirthful roundelay, <br />However poor his fortunes be,-- <br />He will not fail in any qualm <br />Of poverty -- the paltry dime <br />It will grow golden in his palm, <br />Who bides his time. <br /> <br />Who bides his time -- he tastes the sweet <br />Of honey in the saltest tear; <br />And though he fares with slowest feet, <br />Joy runs to meet him, drawing near; <br />The birds are hearalds of his cause; <br />And, like a never-ending rhyme, <br />The roadsides bloom in his applause, <br />Who bides his time. <br /> <br />Who bides his time, and fevers not <br />In the hot race that none achieves, <br />Shall wear cool-wreathen laurel, wrought <br />With crimson berries in the leaves; <br />And he shall reign a goodly king, <br />And sway his hand o'er every clime <br />With peace writ on his signet-ring, <br />Who bides his time.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/who-bides-his-time/
