RAIN.

Drop! drop! drop!

With a ceaseless patter fall,

With a sobbing sound on the sodden ground,

And the gray clouds over all.

Dost weep of the parted summer,

O, spirit of the rain?

For the vanished hours and the faded flowers

That never can come again?

The farmer smiles at they weeping,

Hushing the whispering leaves,

And dreams of days in the Autumn haze

And the gathered golden sheaves.

There's a voice of hope, a promise,

In the sound of thy refrain,

And as bright the hours and as fair the flowers

That will come to thee again.

And yet in our lives, though knowing

That we hold a scepter's sway,

How oft we turn with the thoughts that burn,

To weep on Autumn day.

Turn from the hopeful future

To weep in grief and pain,

For the vanished hours and the faded flowers

That never can come again.