The Shasta Courier

The silver rain, the golden rain, the dripping,
dancing, laughing rain.
Stringing its pearls on the green leaf's edge,
Fringing with gems the brook rock's ledge,
Spinning a veil for the waterfall.
And building an amber-colored wall
across the West where the sunbeams lay.
The gentle rain in the shaded lane—the pattering, winning rain!
The noisy rain, the marching rain, the rushing tread
of the heavy rain!
Pouring its rivers from out the blue,
Down the grass where the daisies grew,
Darting in clouds of angry drops.
Across the hills and green tree tops,
And kissing at last, in its giant glee,
The foaming lips of the great green sea;
The fierce, wild rain, the riotous rain, the boisterous,
dashing, shouting rain!
The still night rain, the solemn rain, the soldier
step of the midnight rain!
With its measured beat on the roof o'er head,
With its tidings sweet of the faithful dead,
Whispers from loves who are laid asleep,
Under the sod where the myrtles creep,
Culling bouquets from the sun-lit past,
Of flowers too sweet, too fair to last;
The faithful rain, the untiring rain, the cooing,
sobbing, weeping rain!