The primrose-head is bowed with tears,
The wood is rippling through with rain,
Though now the heaven once more appears,
And beams the bounteous sun again.
From every blade and blossom-cup
The earth sends thankful incense up.
O happy hearts of flower and field,
That, soon as grief be overpast,
Your fragrant thankfulness can yield
For troubled skies and rainful blast!
I would that I as soon could see
The blessings of adversity!