Subjects — R
Still falls the Rain — Dark as the world of man, black as our loss — Blind as the nineteen hundred and forty nails Upon the Cross.
To watch this crystal globe just sent from heaven to associate with me. While these clouds and this sombre drizzling weather shut all in, we two draw nearer and know one another. The gathering in of the clouds with the last rush and dying breath of the wind, and then the regular dripping of twigs and leaves the country o’er, the impression of inward comfort and sociableness, the drenched stubble and trees that drop beads on you as you pass, their dim outline seen through the rain on all sides drooping in sympathy with yourself. These are my undisputed territory. This is Nature’s English comfort.
Rain is grace; rain is the sky condescending to the earth; without rain, there would be no life.
Rain! whose soft architectural hands have power to cut stones, and chisel to shapes of grandeur the very mountains.