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22
The Myriad-Mother
The storm is dying with the day,
And crimson fringes fret the gray;
The shifting clouds show lakes of blue,
And in the West the sun looks through.
And crimson fringes fret the gray;
The shifting clouds show lakes of blue,
And in the West the sun looks through.
Listen, through all the woods is plain
The music of melodious rain,
And from the oak the blackbird's psalm
Hushes the weeping woods to calm.
The music of melodious rain,
And from the oak the blackbird's psalm
Hushes the weeping woods to calm.
O Nature, whom thy children trust,
Mother of myriads, it is just!
My grief has had thy tears awhile;
Smile now for others who can smile!
Mother of myriads, it is just!
My grief has had thy tears awhile;
Smile now for others who can smile!
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