The Rain Came Thundering Down

When I was very young and it was night
the rain came thundering down the sky
upon the tin roof of Mary Dealey’s cottage;
a sturdy noble rain hammering on the roof,
drumming out a fearful marching sound,
roaring, echoing, in the one room cabin.
Ever since that sudden fright, and
my accompanying comprehension,
I have loved the rain, all the rain,
the hammering rain, the spluttering rain,
the wind driven rain pounding on the ground,
the little drizzle gently falling all around.
The falling rain washes all the earth,
washes grass and leaves, flowers and trees,
washes little rocks and boulders,
washes the very air we breathe.
O ye wind and rain; bless ye the Lord;
O ye cabins with tin roofs; bless ye the Lord;
O ye grass and leaves; bless ye the Lord;
O ye flowers and trees, bless ye the Lord;
O ye little rocks and boulders, bless ye the Lord;
O my joyful rain washed soul; bless ye the Lord;
Praise Him and magnify Him for ever.