  "Mamma, where is the sun to-day, While all this rain comes down?" Ah, little girl Of flaxen curl, Who has not asked before This question o'er and o'er? "Behind the clouds so thick and black The sun is shining still," The mother quickly answered back, Her child with faith to fill. The child looked up in strange surprise, In doubt almost a pain, Then turned again her wistful eyes To watch the pouring rain. "I don't believe 'tis shining still," She muttered to herself. Ah, little girl Of flaxen curl, Why doubt e'en mother's word, Because of feelings stirred? "I won't believe it till I see The sun behind that cloud," She still went on, defiantly, To say in accents loud. Now, while she gazed as if to see The truth made known by sight, Behold the cloud did suddenly Become imbued with light. "There, there, mamma, the sun, the sun!" The little doubter cried. She danced with childish pride. The mother watched with tearful eyes Her child's transparent joy, But dared not quench the glad surprise, Or victory's power destroy. "Perhaps she'll need this proof," she sighed, "Of hidden things made plain, When in the depths of life she's tried, And all fond hopes are slain." While thus she mused, as mothers will, The little daughter fair Rushed to her arms, all smiling still, And said, while nestling there, "Behind the clouds the sun does shine, E'en while the rain comes down." Ah, little girl Of flaxen curl, This wisdom is indeed For future hours of need. |
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