Is it rain, little flower?

Is it raining, little flower? Oh, be glad of rain! Too much sun would wither thee; Soon 'twill shine again. Though the sky is black, 'tis true, Yet behind it shines the blue.

Art thou weary, tender heart? Oh, be glad of pain; Sweetest things in sorrow grow As the flow'rs in rain. God is watching, thou'lt have sun When the clouds their work have done.