Classic Poem

When summer clouds distil
The sweetness of the rain,
What various work it finds to do
Ere it goes back again!

It feeds the mountain rills
As they go hurrying down;
It cools the pavements, hot as flame,
In the deserted town.

It tinkles day and night
In fountains silver clear,
Tempting the little birds to come
And make their toilet near.

About the roots of flowers
And the great roots of trees,
It lingereth as tenderly
As saint upon his knees.

And many a thirsty soul
Its limpid sweetness quaffs,
And when the farmer smells the rain
How merrily he laughs!

O rain that comes from Heaven!
The life that comes from God,
Ere it returns, more paths than thine
Shall wonderingly have trod.

On mountain and on plain
This has a work to do,
A joy to get, a joy to give,
That cannot be for you.

This shall have rills to feed,
And cool the heated ways;
This too shall bubble, fountainwise,
For many pleasant days.

And this where all is dark,
As it were underground,
Shall nurse the hidden roots of power
With never voice or sound.

And this for those who thirst,
All tired and sore of feet,
Must be the cup of water cold
For His disciple meet.

O child, so fresh from heaven,
What omens sweet and grand
Run up to kiss thy tiny feet
Like waves upon the sand!

Wave-omens, kiss and kiss;
Our hearts accept you all,
And dare believe more blessings wait
Than we have words to call.