Ah me! the rain has a sadder sound
Than it ever had before;
And the wind more plaintively whistles through
The crevices of the door.

We know we are safe beneath our roof
From every drop that falls;
And we feel secure and blest, within
The shelter of our walls.

Then why do we dread to hear the noise
Of the rapid, rushing rain--
And the plash of the wintry drops, that beat
Through the blinds, on the window-pane?

We think of the tents on the lowly ground,
Where our patriot soldiers lie;
And the sentry's bleak and lonely march,
'Neath the dark and starless sky.

And we pray, with a tearful heart, for those
Who brave for us yet more--
And we wish this war, with its thousand ills
And griefs, was only o'er.

We pray when the skies are bright and clear,
When the winds are soft and warm--
But oh! we pray with an aching heart
'Mid the winter's rain and storm.

We fain would lift these mantling clouds
That shadow our sunny clime;
We can but wait--for we know there'll be
A day, in the coming time,

When peace, like a rosy dawn, will flood
Our land with softest light:
Then--we will scarcely hearken the rain
In the dreary winter's night.

My Country.