A PRAYER FOR RAIN.
O come, reluctant rain!
For whose approach parched veld and failing spring,
And every living thing,
How long have looked in vain.
The farmer, day by day,
With darker brow watches his dying crops;
The burnt and barren slopes
Where his starved cattle stray.
The maiden in her bower
Wishes the pity-laden tears that spring
From her soft heart might bring
Help to each pining flower.
And Spring is in the land!
Ah, ruthless rain! canst thou unmoved behold
The bronzéd bud unfold
A pale, beseeching hand?
By inward power impelled,
Must the young leaf to loveliest life be born
Only to die forlorn,
Thy gracious drops withheld?
The snowy-blossomed pear
Scatters a mimic shower at every gust;
Wilt thou to dew her dust
Naught from thy treasures spare?
