I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.
* * *
The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That questions the distempered part;
Beneath the bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer's art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.
For the complete text online, click here.
Thank-you for rekindling my love for the works of Eliot. I have enjoyed reading the reflections and this poem in particular on this website. I needed something to touch my soul and the Lord provided it beautifully through you. Thank-you.
Posted by: Wendy Louis | January 08, 2009 at 07:53 PM
What a treasure this is.
Thank you.
I will search his work out.
:)
Posted by: anns | December 23, 2008 at 06:10 PM