[Waiting by John Burroughs | Friday, June 16, 2017 | The Writer’s Almanac with Garrison Keillor](http://feeds.americanpublicmedia.org/~r/writersalmanac/~3/od72PB2cpvs/) THE WRITER’S ALMANAC WITH GARRISON KEILLORTHE WRITER’S ALMANAC WITH GARRISON KEILLOR JUN 16 ⋅ 5 MIN Serene, I fold my hands and wait,      Nor care for wind nor tide nor sea; I rave no more ‘gainst time or fate,      For lo! my own shall come to me. I stay my haste, I make delays—      For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways      And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day,      The friends I seek are seeking me, No wind can drive my bark astray      Nor change the tide of destiny. What matter if I stand alone?      I wait with joy the coming years; My heart shall reap where it has sown,      And garner up its fruit of tears. The waters know their own, and draw      The brook that springs in yonder height; So flows the good with equal law      Unto the soul of pure delight. The stars come nightly to the sky;      The tidal wave unto the sea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high,      Can keep my own away from me.