Drawn from the bubbling fountain, filled from the limitless main,
Pent in the steeling heavens, clouds in low thunder complain.
God! let them burst in showers, life to the dead give again.
God of the brooks, have pity!
God of cool streams, give us rain!
Wind from a smouldering furnace shrivels the corn in the grain.
Driving the swarm of locusts, whirling the dust in its train.
Brown are the drooping grasses, hopes of the blossom-time wane.
God of the corn, have pity!
God of green things, give us rain!
Trekking in search of water over the desolate plain,
Sheep by the roadside falling, look up to us in their pain,
Haunt us with eyes of hunger, plead with us—eve in vain.
God of the lambs, have pity!
God of dumb beasts, give us rain!
You in the world's beginning—ah, could the spring come again! —
Saw it was good ere You rested; You who made all, give us rain!