Wednesday, June 12, 2019

God is with me


Is it raining, little flower?
 Be glad of rain;
Too much sun would wither thee;
 `Twill shine again.
The clouds are very black, `tis true;
But just behind them shines the blue.


Art thou weary, tender heart?
 Be glad of pain:
In sorrow sweetest virtues grow,
 As flowers in rain.
God watches, and thou wilt have sun,
When clouds their perfect work have done.

          ─Lucy Larcom. 

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