God has a lot of PR to do about rain…to make His rain welcome, a counterpoint to that described by Henry Treece in his WW2 poem, “Lincolnshire Bomber Station”.
Across the road the homesick Romans made
The ground-mist thickens to a milky shroud;
Through flat, damp fields call sheep, mourning their dead
In cracked and timeless voices, unutterably sad,
Suffering for all the world, in Lincolnshire.
And I wonder how the Romans liked it here;
Flat fields, no sun, the muddy misty dawn,
And always, above all, the mad rain dripping down,
Rusting sword and helmet, wetting the feet
And soaking to the bone, down to the very heart . . .
Mad rain or showers of blessing? Punishment or reward? I guess it depends on your worldview at the moment.
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God has a lot of PR to do about rain…to make His rain welcome, a counterpoint to that described by Henry Treece in his WW2 poem, “Lincolnshire Bomber Station”.
Across the road the homesick Romans made
The ground-mist thickens to a milky shroud;
Through flat, damp fields call sheep, mourning their dead
In cracked and timeless voices, unutterably sad,
Suffering for all the world, in Lincolnshire.
And I wonder how the Romans liked it here;
Flat fields, no sun, the muddy misty dawn,
And always, above all, the mad rain dripping down,
Rusting sword and helmet, wetting the feet
And soaking to the bone, down to the very heart . . .
Mad rain or showers of blessing? Punishment or reward? I guess it depends on your worldview at the moment.