  Two girls I know—Jeannette and Jo, And one is always moping; The other lassie, come what may, Is ever bravely hoping. Beauty of face and girlish grace Are theirs, for joy or sorrow; Jeannette takes brightly every day, And Jo dreads each to-morrow. One early morn they watched the dawn— I saw them stand together; Their whole day’s sport, ’twas very plain, Depended on the weather. “‘Twill storm!” cried Jo. Jeannette spoke low: “Yes, but ’twill soon be over.” And, as she spoke, the sudden shower Came, beating down the clover. “I told you so!” cried angry Jo: “It always is a-raining!” Then hid her face in dire despair, Lamenting and complaining. But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful yet,— I tell it to her honor,— Looked up and waited till the sun Came streaming in upon her. The broken clouds sailed off in crowds, Across a sea of glory. Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing, in— Which ends my simple story. Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine, The hopeful are the gladdest; And doubt and dread, children, believe Of all things are the saddest. In morning’s light, let youth be bright; Take in the sunshine tender; Then, at the close, shall life’s decline Be full of sunset splendor. And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette, To shun all weak complaining; And not, like Jo, cry out too soon— “It always is a-raining!” —Mary Mapes Dodge. A kindly act is a kernel sown, That will grow to a goodly tree, Shedding its fruit when time has flown, Down the gulf of eternity. |
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