Rain

The rain, damp rain upon the dusty sky,
Makes clear the air, and paints it purest blue;
But as the storm breaks, clouds still sailing by,
Above the floating wrack the sun shines through.
A cold wind blows, and autumn fills the air.
The wet gray sidewalk smells of changing seasons
As drops drip down and splash upon the stair.
O! this, among a thousand other reasons,
Convinces me of God’s great love for man:
That he would bless us with such stunning sights
As sunset-painted clouds o’er sky’s deep span
And whisper through the feel of starlit nights
In cold, crisp air—Ah! what more can be said?
Where God has spoken, how can words dare tread?