The Rains

I tell you this rain Will even grow dead grain And every filth and disdain It is bound to drown or drain It pounds, it pours Oh Lord, the casualties soar This time heavens windows and doors Open almost like in the day of Noah Just the other day the sun scorched Day on day and harvests botched And we prayed as we watched For we are helpless if not by Providence forged Oh Lord, temper the deluge Let your sons and daughters find refuge Have mercy though thou art the Righteous judge This prayer be to Thee our pleading nudge K. Muitherero