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