Classic Poem

The east wind had whistled for many a day,
Sere and wintry, o'er Summer's domain;
And the sun, muffled up in a dull robe of gray,
Looked sullenly down on the plain.

The butterfly folded her wings as if dead,
Or awaked ere the full-destined time;
Every flower shrank inward, or hung down its head
Like a young heart frost-nipped in its prime.

I, too, shrank and shivered, and eyed the cold earth,
The cold heaven, with comfortless looks;
And I listened in vain for the summer bird's mirth,
And the music of rain-plenished brooks.

But, lo! while I listened, down heavily dropped
A few tears from a low-sailing cloud;
Large and few they descended, then thickened, then stopped,
Then poured down abundant and loud.

O the rapture of beauty, of sweetness, of sound,
That succeeded that soft, gracious rain!
With laughter and singing the valleys rang round,
And the little hills shouted again.

The wind sank away like a sleeping child's breath,
The pavilion of clouds was upsurled;
And the sun, like a spirit triumphant o'er death,
Smiled out on this beautiful world.

On this " beautiful world " such a change had been wrought
By these few blessed drops. O! the same
On some cold, stony heart might be worked, too methought,
Sunk in guilt, but not senseless of shame.

If a few virtuous tears, by the merciful shed,
Touched its hardness, perhaps the good grain
That was sown there and rooted, though long seeming dead,
Might shoot up and flourish again.

And the smile of the virtuous, like sunshine from heaven,
Might chase the dark clouds of despair;
And remorse, when the rock's flinty surface was riven,
Might gush out and soften all there.

O! to work such a change — by God's grace to recall
A poor soul from the death sleep! to this, —
To this joy, that the angels partake, — what were all
That the worldly and sensual call bliss?