Patience

American Poetry Review, The, Jul/Aug 2002 by Merwin, W S

Patience

A West Midlands poem of the Fourteenth Century

Patience is a virtue, though few are fond of it.

When heavy hearts are hurt by scorn or other harm

Long-suffering may comfort them and soothe the burning,

For she quells all evil and quenches malice,

For if one could endure pain, happiness would come afterward,

So it is better to bear the blow to begin with .

Than to struggle against it, however hard it seems.

I heard, on a holy day at a high mass

How Matthew told of his master teaching his followers.

Eight kinds of happiness he promised them, all of them rewards

Differing according to what each of them deserved.

They are happy that have poverty in their hearts

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven to have forever.

They are happy also that behave with meekness

For they shall possess this world and have their way.

They are happy also that weep for their hurt

For they shall obtain comfort of many kinds.

They are happy also that hunger after the right

For they shall be fully satisfied with every bounty.

They are happy also that have pity in their hearts

For mercy will reward them in every way.

They are happy also that are pure of heart

For with their own eyes that will see their Savior on the throne.

They are happy also that keep peace

For with grace they will be called sons of the gracious God.

They are happy also that can control their hearts

For theirs is the kingdom of heaven as I said before.

These are all eight of the happinesses that were promised to us

if we would love these ladies, emulating their virtues:

Dame Poverty, Dame Pity, and the third, Dame Repentance,

Dame Meekness, Dame Mercy, and Lovely Purity,

And then Dame Peace, and Patience, that were put in after them.

You would be happy with one of them. All would be better.

But since I must pay my respects to Poverty

I shall present Patience and so display both.

For there in the text these two are yoked together.

They are made into one meaning, first and last,

And pursuit of their wisdom earns the same reward,

And in my opinion they are of one nature.

For where Poverty pleases to be she will not be driven out

But stays where she wants to, whatever her welcome,

And where Poverty is oppressive, painful though it prove,

She must be endured, whatever may be said.

So Poverty and Patience must be play-fellows.

Since both have been given to me at once, I must bear it,

And would rather welcome my lot and speak well of it

Than struggle against it in anger and make it worse.

If there is a fixed destiny due to befall me

What is the good of maligning or opposing it?

Or if my liege Lord wants to send me

To ride or to run, roaming on his errand,

What can complaints do but make him angry?

He did not make me to be great, as I might have wished,

And I had to endure troubles as my reward.

I should have bowed to his bidding as I was bound to.

Did not Jonah in Judea try to trick him once,

To stay safe, and it brought him misfortune?,

If you will be patient for a little, and listen a while,

I will let you hear how it went, as holy writ tells it.

It happened one time within the confines of Judea:

Jonah was summoned from there as a prophet to the Gentiles.

When God's command came to him it made him unhappy.

It rang in his ear with a rough clang.

"Rise quickly," He says, "and leave here at once.

Make your way to Ninevah without another word,

And everywhere in that city tell them what I have said

Which I will put in your heart in that place, at that time.

For truly those who are living there are so wicked,

And so great is their malice that I will wait no longer

To take vengeance upon their evil and villainy.

Now go there quickly and take this message from me."

When that voice had ended, his mind was in turmoil.

It rose in a rage of rebellion, and he thought,

"If I bow to his bidding and bear this message to them,

And take myself to Ninevah, my troubles will begin.

He tells me those wicked people are hardened villains.

If I take them these tidings they will lay hold of me,

Pen me in a prison, put me in stocks,

Tie me down for torture, gouge out my eyes.

This is a mad message for a man to preach

Among so many enemies and merciless fiends

Unless my gracious God wants me to come to such grief,

To have me killed because of some sin of mine.

At all costs," the prophet said, "I will stay away from there.

I will go to some other place where he will not see me.

I shall travel into Tarshish and stay there for a while

And maybe when he has lost sight of me he will let me alone."

Then Jonah rises at once and hurries down

Toward the port of Jaffa, muttering with annoyance

At these troubles, with his mind made up not to endure them

Even if the father who formed him did not care about him.

"Our sire sits," he says, "on a seat so high

In his shining glory, it would not matter to him

If I were seized in Ninevah and stripped to the skin

And cruelly torn apart on a cross by a crowd of cutthroats."

So he goes down to that port to look for a vessel,

Finds a fine ship all ready to sail,

Makes friends with the mariners, pays for his passage

For them to take him right away to Tarshish.

Then he steps on board and they put up the mast,