The Kindly Gift of Rain

Ballade of Rain
by M. A. B. Evans 

With patter soft and still,
The rain falls, day by day;
The street becomes a rill,
The dust a mound of clay.
The children, at their play,
Are stopped, in field and lane;
They doubtless would gainsay
The kindly gift of rain. 

The mists across the hill
Show ne'er a sunny ray.
The waters of the mill
Flow like a torrent gay.
The wind, with gentle spray,
Wipes off the earth all stain,
And clears the dirt away,
The kindly gift of rain. 

With fresh new strength we thrill;
O'er tasks we ne'er delay.
All duties we fulfill
With vigor, as we may;
And, eager for the fray,
We plan a week's campaign
At something,--'neath the sway,
The kindly gift, of rain. 

 Envoy.
Not sun alone makes hay;
That proverb is quite vain.
Both time and strength repay
The kindly gift of rain.