The burning and beating heat soared
And the scorching wind feebly whispered around
All joy was drowned in sweat that flowed
All tears dry in the scalded ground.
The burning orb has made aged slave
Of him who once in wealth have played
To toil, and burn, and mourn, and pray
For the ferocious riot to melt away.
And then came the rain conquering the force
Washing anew all withered dreams
Healing the burns and wounds and sores
Breathing life back in dying hopes.
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