Dashing in big drops on the narrow pane, and making mournful music for the mind, I hear the singing of the frequent rain.
How beautiful is the rain! After the dust and heat, in the broad and fiery street, and in the narrow lane; how beautiful is the rain!
The daily showers rejoice the thirsty earth, and bless the flowery buds.
Clouds dissolved the thirsty ground supply.
The clouds consign their treasures to the fields, and softly shaking on the dimpled pool preclusive drops, let all their moisture flow, in large effusion, o'er the freshened world.
The kind refresher of the summer heats.
How singular, and yet how simple, the philosophy of rain!—Who out the Omniscient one could have devised such an admirable arrangement for watering the earth!
Vexed sailors curse the rain for which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
The rain is playing its soft pleasant tune fitfully on the skylight, and the shade of the fast-flying clouds passes with delicate change across my book.