PRECIOUS RAIN-DROPS by Isaac Deeley

Pacific Press Publishing Company · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · Jan 17, 1900

PRECIOUS RAIN-DROPS.

By Isaac Deeley

WHEN the heat of the day stills the husbandman's song, And soft, cooling breezes come sweetly along, Too seldom he thanks the kind Giver above, Who fans his hot brow, in His infinite love. When the corn-fields and meadows are moistened with rain, Let a thanksgiving song rise with hallowed refrain To the bountiful Donor of all that is good, Who provides us with raiment, with health, and with food.

When the clouds He commandeth to rain not on earth, When the springs and the fountains all cease to gush forth, When the grass in the pasture is withered and dead, When the harvest has failed us abundance of bread, Shall we say it is chance, that no God rules on high, Or that nature's laws govern the earth and the sky? That prayers avail naught against her decree? That nature is God, and what is, is to be?

Is this the sad plight in which mortals to-day, Without God in the world, are groping their way? No, no, there's a God, who withholdeth the rain, To bring His lost sheep to His home fold again. The clouds have been loaded with heaven's own hand, And waiting to fall on the drought-stricken land; But we failed to acknowledge His almighty power To give or withhold in our desperate hour.

The worth of His gifts He would teach us to know, The riches poured out in the rain and the snow. If withheld for a time and no fruit doth appear, No food for our cattle, no corn in the ear, Let us praise Him for mercies received in the past, When they crowded our pathway like rain falling fast; Let us thank Him as never we thanked Him before; He has given us much and still waits to give more. Vienna, N. Y. ISAAC DEELEY.