THE PROMISE OF THE STORM.

do not mind the hurricane, And biting winter rain; I love to watch them sweep across The woodland and the plain; For as they roar the trees among, I fancy I can hear A whisper like a fairy's song: 'The spring is drawing near.' I do not mind the gloomy days, When clouds are dark and low, And rough winds from the meadows tear Their tattered sheets of snow; For through those ragged holes I've seen A sight the heart to cheer, The face of some sweet flower that tells, 'The spring is drawing near.' O children big, and children small, This wisdom bear in mind: Frown not on any rains that fall, Nor grumble at the wind; And when the gloomy winter's day Is far from blithe and warm, Look well, and think, and you will find A promise in the storm.