Orrick Johns. The Rain. Harriet Monroe, ed. Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912-22

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22.

The Rain

By Orrick Johns


MY heart is a thread of silver in the rain.
And I am dissolved upon the roads;
My heart is a rock upon a hill,
And I glimmer like white boards.

The stars are waiting in a hedge,	5
And upon the grass are shining sentinels;
And the dusk that follows the rain is as a mother to her children,

Who weareth smooth the scars with her caresses,
And to her moderation subdues the sharp speech.

The hills have risen in a colored coat,	10
And the oak split to its root laughs at Heaven.
The fields are dimpled like a young infant,
And the brass bowl of the sun drips honey—
The fields are open like a flaming poppy,
And the sun blooms like a rose.	15

Feet sound upon the road. Oh, the good sound of feet upon the roads!
O my heart!
Have you drunk your fill of the rain for nothing?

From age to age the spirits wage
Their endless strife with God,	20
The spirits that are brave and strong
And will not stoop nor plod.

From age to age the spirits lose,
For God lifts high his Hell
And strikes their struggling hands to earth	25
And scatters them pellmell.

Men have but two hands and a brain
And wills that often veer;
God stands upon the topmost plain
And wields the sword of fear.	30

God owns the cops and mighty shops
And drives the motor cars;
But hungry men still mock his power
As deserts mock the stars.

From age to age do stricken men,	35
Who yet shirk not to be,
Withstand the onslaughts of their God
As rocks withstand the sea.