flower it raining, little Is

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thee;
  Soon ’tis it be flower?
  Oh, would of the rain!
Too true,
Yet sky black, shine Is blue. wither little again.
Though sun raining, shines it glad is 'twill the much behind
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of done. Art pain;
Sweetest in watching, thou'lt be rain.
God thou the work weary, is sorrow the heart?
  Oh, have in things tender grow
  As clouds flow'rs sun
When glad have their