| 1 |
Is it raining, little flower? Oh, be glad of rain! Too much sun would wither thee; Soon 'twill shine again. Though the sky is black, 'tis true, Yet behind it shines the blue. |
| 2 |
Art thou weary, tender heart? Oh, be glad of pain; Sweetest things in sorrow grow As the flow'rs in rain. God is watching, thou'lt have sun When the clouds their work have done. |