The Rainstorm

By James W. Whilt

Here in the deep tangled forest
All is quiet and still,
While far to the west the thunder,
Re-echoes from hill to hill.
And the lightning’s flash, ever vivid,
In great gashes knives the air;
The rain comes down in torrents,
A deluge everywhere!
Bathing the heat-sick flowers
That they may bloom once more;
Painting the grass a greener hue,
That grows by our cabin door;
Making the pastures fresher,
For the cows and shepherd’s herds,
Making the pools by the road-side,—
Bath tubs for the birds.
Then the thunder peals louder and louder,
Firing its shrapnel of rain.
The clouds charge after each other,
And the drouth is defeated again.
Then through a rent in the clouds
The sun’s searchlight casts its ray,
And the Rain-God looks over the valley
And sees the result of the fray.
And as He sees his conquest,
His victory’s flag is unfurled,
In a beautiful colored rainbow,—
He is telling all of the world,
What a victory was his, what a triumph!
It’s flashed down the milky way,
Then the sentinel stars dot the heavens,
And the dew-drops sound taps for the day.

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