Heavy veils of grey yield to wind,
Parting to reveal still-shining blue,
Shedding soft shreds, whiter now and thinned,
Gladsome white-gold sunshine beaming through.
All the ruts and ditches that here lie,
They are mirrors now of water-glass,
Wherein fragments of the glowing sky
Gleam up from among the stones and grass.
Branches netted roughly, tattered bars,
Drab grey webs all drizzle-wet and grim,
Glisten now with countless bits of stars,
Silver-bright, as if with Christmas trim.
Every leaf and flower-head weighed down,
Battered with the rushing of the rain,
Now stands splendid in its diamond crown,
And is swift forgetting all its strain.
All the earth is baptized, washed anew,
And stands radiant before the sun,
All the gloom and tempest that it knew
Now become such glory as to stun.
So for nature, so also for me,
When that which oppressed and struck me low,
As the light returned, changed wondrously,
New marvels of grace and joy to show.
Let it come then, Lord, the bitter rain,
Though it drench and pound upon my soul;
Only, send Your light, and make my pain
Something shining, my fractures Your whole.