Even Tennyson, nature-loving Tennyson, what word has he for the rain? Of Enid we are told—
“She did not weep,
But o’er her meek eyes came a happy mist,
Like that which kept the heart of Eden green
Before the useful trouble of the rain.”
Nothing, then, even in the desire to praise it, better than “useful trouble”? I do not think that even Wordsworth dwells with much frequency or delight on this friend of mine. Longfellow has—
“The day is cold, and dark, and dreary,
It rains, and the wind is never weary.”
One who sent out, some years ago, a volume of unfulfilled promise, writes—
“How beautiful the yesterday that stood
Over me like a rainbow! I am alone,
The past is past. I see the future stretch
All dark and barren as a rainy sea.”
And so on, generally; all that is dreary, uninviting, dismal, seems connected in the English mind with rain. In the English mind, I say, for I suppose the want of appreciation of it arises from its somewhat abundance in our climate. But how differently is it regarded by the poets of an Eastern land! How beautiful the description—
“Thou visitest the earth, and waterest it;
Thou greatly enrichest it with the river of God, which is full of water:
Thou preparest them corn, when Thou hast so provided for it:
Thou waterest the ridges thereof abundantly: Thou settlest the furrows thereof:
Thou makest it soft with showers: Thou blessest the springing thereof.”
How lovingly it is spoken of! That “gracious rain upon Thine inheritance,” refreshing it when it was weary; the “rain upon the mown grass, and showers that water the earth.” How its mention is a signal for thanksgiving—“Sing unto the Lord, who covereth the heaven with clouds, who prepareth rain for the earth.”