For rain, for rain the parched lands cry, <br />Reproachful to the cloudless sky. <br />The hot white fields in light are blinking, <br />The rivers in their beds are shrinking. <br /> <br />For rest, for rest the weary cry <br />That watch from dark to dawn the sky; <br />A little sleep their limbs are craving, <br />A little rest from ceaseless raving. <br /> <br />God gives in His good time the rain, <br />And sends the sick man peace for pain; <br />But while we wait His gracious sending, <br />Alas! the sad days seem unending. <br /> <br />Yet, when the evening comes, the dew <br />Brings to the fields a fragrance new; <br />And loving smiles at day’s returning <br />Will soothe awhile the sick man’s yearning.<br /><br />Francis William Bourdillon<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/drought-16/
