New York Dispatch

AFTER THE SHOWER.
By Mary Walsingham.
After the shower, the sunshine beaming;
After the rain, the opening flowers;
After the clouds the blue sky gleaming;
After the tempest, the peaceful hours.
After the torrent, the rain-drops pending,
Shining jewels on eave and pine;
After the flood, the shrubbery bending
Under its diamonds—after the rain.
So to passion does peace come after—
Smiles chase weeping from violet eyes;
Following frowns comes the sunshine of laughter,
Music of singing succeeding to sighs.
Thanks to the Giver of all sweet kindness!
Thanks to the Keeper of all our years!
Sorrow must cease, though it strike to blindness—
Frowns, and passions, and pains, and tears.
Every blast from the storm still bears us
Something from Heaven or something from earth.
Something that calms us, or soothes us, or cheers us—
Something of sweetness, or wonder, or mirth.
For, like the flowers the rain has brought us,
Torn, and dripping, and panting aghast,
Doubt and terror, and longing have taught us
How to cherish them after the blast,
After the clouds, the violet lining—
After the shower, the sunshine again;
After the storm, the shrubbery shining,
All in diamonds—after the rain!