Soft, tender Rain! benison of the skies!
See now, what transformation in thy touch!
Straight all the land is green. The blossoming trees
Put on their bridal wreaths, and veil their charms
From the too ardent sun, beneath thy gift
Of soft diaphanous tissue, pure and white
As angel's raiment. Little wood children
Deck all the path with flowers. The teeming earth
Offers rich gifts. The little choristers
Sing ceaseless hymns, and the glad husbandman
Adds his diapason. Bright fountains wake
And mingle with the swift roulade of streams.
The earth is full of music! Thou dost swing
Thy fragrant censer high, and dwellers in
The dusty city raise their toil-worn heads
From desk and bench, and cry "Summer is here!"
And straight they smell new hay and clover blooms;
And see the trout swift-darting in the brooks:
And hear the plover whistling in the fields.
And little children dream of daisy chains;
And pent-up youth thinks of a holiday;
A holiday with romps, and cream, and flowers.
O, Rain! O, soft, sweet Rain! O liberal Rain!
Touch our hard hearts, that we may more become
Like that Great Heart, whose almoner art thou.
REMONSTRANCE WITH "REMONSTRANCE."
(IN "CANADIAN MONTHLY," APRIL, 1874.)
Why now, sweet Alice, though thy numbers ring
Like silver bells, methinks their burden wrong.
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