A Rainy Day.

Oh, what a blessed interval         A rainy day may be!     No lightning flash nor tempest roar,     But one incessant, steady pour         Of dripping melody;     When from their sheltering retreat     Go not with voluntary feet     The storm-beleaguered family,         Nor bird nor animal.     When business takes a little lull,         And gives the merchantman     A chance to seek domestic scenes,     To interview the magazines,         Convoke his growing clan,     The boys and girls almost unknown,     And get acquainted with his own;     As well the household budget scan,         Or write a canticle.     When farmer John ransacks the barn,         Hunts up the harness old -     Nigh twenty years since it was new -     Puts in an extra thong or two,         And hopes the thing will hold     Without that missing martingale     That bothered Dobbin, head and tail,     He, gentle equine, safe controlled         But by a twist of yarn.     When busy fingers may provide         A savory repast     To whet the languid appetite,     And give to eating a delight         Unknown since seasons past;     Avaunt, ill-cookery! whose ranks     Develop dull dyspeptic cranks     Who, forced to diet or to fast,         Ergo, have dined and died.     It is a day of rummaging,         The closets to explore;     To take down from the dusty shelves     The books - that never read themselves -         And turning pages o'er     Discover therein safely laid     The bills forgot and never paid -     Somehow that of the corner store         Such dunning memories bring.     It gives a chance to liquidate         Epistolary debts;     To write in humble penitence     Acknowledging the negligence,         The sin that so besets,     And cheer the hearts that hold us dear,     Who've known and loved us many a year -     Back to the days of pantalets         And swinging on the gate.     It gives occasion to repair         Unlucky circumstance;     To intercept the ragged ends,     And for arrears to make amends         By mending hose and pants;     The romping young ones to re-dress     Without those signs of hole-y-ness     That so bespeak the mendicants         By every rip and tear.     It is a time to gather round         The old piano grand,     Its dulcet harmonies unstirred     Since Lucy sang so like a bird,         And played with graceful hand;     Like Lucy's voice in pathos sweet     Repeating softly "Shall we meet?"     Is only in the heavenly land         Such clear soprano sound.     It is a time for happy chat         En cercle tte--tte;     Discuss the doings of the day,     The club, the sermon, or the play,         Affairs of church and state;     Fond reminiscence to explore     The pleasant episodes of yore,     And so till raindrops all abate         As erst on Ararat.     Ah, yes, a rainy day may be         A blessed interval!     A little halt for introspect,     A little moment to reflect         On life's discrepancy -     Our puny stint so poorly done,     The larger duties scarce begun -     And so may conscience culpable         Suggest a remedy.