The Sun FRIDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1927. “THE RAIN, IT RAINETH ..."

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 240, 30 December 1927, Page 8

The Sun FRIDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1927. “THE RAIN, IT RAINETH ..."

THERE] surely is not an utter lack of righteousness in the Auckland Province, for Buddha said that if there he one righteous person the rain falls for his sake. And, lo! “the rain it raineth every day.” is to say, it has more or less sprinkled for the past few days, with an occasional shower to refresh the parched earth, and the promise of further favours to come. What is rain if not the weeping of fhe heavens for the cruelty of the sun toward a parched earth? When the long grass dries oft' and the young, tender shoots wilt, when the beasts of the field hunger, when the growing corn falls sickly for lack of moisture, the elements move in sympathy to succour them and the torrents of their tears descend to restore the soil. “O, earth! I will befriend thee .... in summer’s drought I’ll drop upon thee still.” There is a beautiful legend as to how a drought-stricken world was rescued by the rain. High lip in the spongy clouds the raindrops were gathered, looking down upon the starving soil of the earth. “I will go down,” said one pitying raindrop. “Pooh !” said another, “what good can you do?” “I can help one little blade of grass at least,” was the reply, and the good little raindrop fell. “Well,” said another, “if you are on such a good errand, I will go too.” “And I,” said another. “And T,” “and I,” “and I,” declared others, and down they dropped until there was not a raindrop that was not ashamed to be left out of this mission of mercy, and soon it was raining hard. And it rained and it rained, and the earth was refreshed and yielded its harvest and nourished all upon it, and all gave thanks to the kindly rain. People read of great snowstorms and freezing cold in England, while here it has been hot and dry “How fearful!” they say, and rush joyfully off to a picnic, or expectantly to the races, expressing the fervent wish that there will be no rain to spoil their enjoyment. It is thoughtlessness; not selfishness. And in the Waikato, or on the Hauraki Plains and elsewhere in this great province which depends for its very existence on moist soil and green pastures, the milk yield is falling considerably and the farmers are casting anxious glances at the tantalising cloudstrewn skies, which promise so much and yield so little. The rain of the past few days has amounted only to one half of an inch in the city, and this amount does not seem to have been exceeded in many places in the country. It has not been enough to get down very deep, but sufficient, nevertheless, to revive the pastures, which, under the influence of heat and moisture, will quickly spring away and provide good feed for a short spell at least. Later rains will doubtless come and “continue the good work.” The material value of one inch of rain at the right time may amount to hundreds of thousands of pounds sterling. In the winter, when rain fell literally by inches each day, for days in succession, it was received with no great friendliness. In the heat of summer, when drought threatens the land, what guest more welcome than rain? We even pray for it—and most people when they pray for anything in these material days, want it sadly. Poets have never done justice to the rain—they seem to have expended all the riches of the language in praise of Spring—and it is only when there is a scarcity of that which is the very essence of earthly life that we remember: “Every drop of rain that falls bears into the bosom of the earth a quality of beautiful fertility.”