Classic Poem

O great Allayer of our pain,
That some day shuts all eyelids down,
Wilt thou come softly, like the rain,
When he goes through to cleanse the town?

Wilt thou come singing with the wind,
Who shouts and sweeps the dust away,
And scatters thus triumphantly
The little hoarded heaps of clay?

Or smiling silent, as the sun
Who ripens ere they fall to rest,
Earth's flowers and fruits, so one by one,
They mellow drop upon her breast?

O great Allayer of our pain,
O sure Encompasser of all
Our woe: O come gently, as rain
Doth come; Let not thy terrors call.