The Soldier in the Rain.

By Julia L. Keyes.

Ah me! the rain has a sadder sound Than it ever had before; And the wind more plaintively whistles through The crevices of the door.

We know we are safe beneath our roof From every drop that falls; And we feel secure and blest, within The shelter of our walls.

Then why do we dread to hear the noise Of the rapid, rushing rain-- And the plash of the wintry drops, that beat Through the blinds, on the window-pane?

We think of the tents on the lowly ground, Where our patriot soldiers lie; And the sentry's bleak and lonely march, 'Neath the dark and starless sky.

And we pray, with a tearful heart, for those Who brave for us yet more-- And we wish this war, with its thousand ills And griefs, was only o'er.

We pray when the skies are bright and clear, When the winds are soft and warm-- But oh! we pray with an aching heart 'Mid the winter's rain and storm.

We fain would lift these mantling clouds That shadow our sunny clime; We can but wait--for we know there'll be A day, in the coming time,

When peace, like a rosy dawn, will flood Our land with softest light: Then--we will scarcely hearken the rain In the dreary winter's night.