The tri-weekly standard. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1866-1868, 1866-08-21
BY WIN. s. LACY.


BY WIN. s. LACY.
The rain,-the 1.-THE blessed rain
Visits the thirsty earth again;
Kindly bringing,
With its singing,
Blessings on mountain, on woodland and plain,
Kisses of hope for the parched grain,
Smiles of life to the crisping corn,
Odours fresh to the scented morn,
Tears of joy to the day newborn.
Now,-'tis patter
Upon the roof,
Like to the CHATTER
Of mail and hoof,
When horseman gallop the stony street,
Or the leaden hail where foemen meet.
Now,-'tis whisper
Soft as the vesper
Beneath the caves
OF dim gray piles and solemn towers,
Where maidens pure keep holy hours.
Now,-tis gently soothing sound,
A murmuring in the distance dying,
As humming birds whirr when south
ward bound,
Or dreamy june-bug's flying;
A sweet, yet sad, monotonous strain,
Filling the heart with pleasure and pain;
Like the mingled feelings an old man knows
When heartsick and weary he seeks repose,
Under the trees where his childhood was spent,
So eager, so peaceful, so innocent:
His memory tells of the new delights
CHI
nights,
His memory tells that those joys have flown
That he is left, alone-alone!
Now,-'tis single sudden drop
Upon the pane,
That makes one start, and muse, and stop
To muse again!
Yet blessed be God for the blessed rain,
Though angry and dark the cloud,
That shuts out the light from hamlet and plain,
While through meadow and mountain,
Over forest and fountain
Roll laundering echoes loud,
A mother watches the lowly bed
Where her suffering darling sleeps,
Caresses the precious golden head,
And silently weepsl
WAN oohy auu plIlCueO 1dce,
And brows deep furrowed with hopeless care,
They meet in the same neglected place.
The children of want for their scanty fare,
And eagerly clutch each meagre shareI
A maiden bows her head she does not speak,
Fair white winged pleasures trip unheeded by,
The bloom of beauty fading from her check
The brightness from her eve!
All! who would say that such cruel rain
Brings blessing and beauty in its train,
Each drop that falls, adds bitter smart
To the many woes of a burdened heart
Yet it beats with a reckless pitiless mirth,
Crushing the flowers of hope to earth!
Hush! soul, and murmur not,
Trust! though He kill,
Thy woes are not forgot,
Trust! tits His will
He marks each secret spot,
Where, in thy grief,
Thou goest to weep and find.
In tears, relief
He knows thy bitter lot,
he keeps those tears in mind,
Loving thee still!
Take hope, my soul !-e'en though thv skies
are clouded
Ihough bitter binding tears thine eyelids fill
Thy Fathers vision is not dimned or sbrouded
He sees and loves thee still,
Iake hope, not simply since the poet sinpeth.
Behind the clouds, the blessed sun still beam.
Nor yet that through whatever shade sin
bringeth,
Inc daylight, darkened, CLEANS:
ou' henee take hope these very clouds that
gather
inese very drops that pelt us as they fall.
Inc lurld bolt, the shaded sunlight rather.
Are blessings after ALL
For Patience, Trust and every Christian dr+r
Nowin the heart thus humbled. softenad +-isd
AS fairest flowers spring us in blushine beantv
Alter the storms subsideI
Listen, there, to the rain
Singing in saddened strain.
Soul, never fear again,
Hope for the best -
Shadows may DER thee fly,
Clouds gather in thy sky
Still know that by and by
Thou will be blest!"
Inc maiden, weeping for the absent one,
I'LL pale and sad and speeches. with emotion,
Thus proves the preciousness of him. tboupb
gone,
The strength of pure devotion.
Gaunt want with visage lank and sunken eve.
Teaches the children of his sore depressing,
The worth of effort, and increasingly,
To struggle for the blessing,
The mother, bowed beneath af1iction's rod.
Learns, as she feels the kindly tribulation.
Comfort In patience, and to trust her God
With hopeful resignationl
And thus it is the clouds that hide
The sweet sunlight, teach us to bide
his Will, who hath all good supplied!
And thus it is, the drops that fall
On flower or weed, in hut or hall,
Come with a blessing unto all!
Oh! let us learn there in the rain,
inere 1s no drop, that falls in vain.
Inough harsh the stroke; tits for our paini
Ihen blessed be God for the blessed rain,
refreshing the thirsty earth again,
Tenderly bringing
s With its sweet singing
Blessings on mountain, on woodland and plain