flower Is little raining, it

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