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