Classic Poem

Dear heart, dost thou complain
When the kind God sends rain?
Think of the thirsting crops
That drink the beady drops—
Think of the flowers, unfolding all their sweets—
The city's burning streets,
The famished flocks upon the mountain tops—
The windless casements where the sick in vain
Cry for the cool, sweet rain!
Think—and thank God
For every drop that quivers on a clod!