1 The Lark sits high on the walnut tree,
While it rains, it rains, it rains;
A jolly philosopher sure is he,
While it rains, it rains, it rains;
How blithely he looks at the meadows below,
Where the nest will be, when the grassblades grow,
And he pours our his song in a liquid flow,
While it rains, it rains, it rains.

2 All nature seems happy as happy can be
While it rains, it rains, it rains;
But restless mortals like you and me,
While it rains, it rains, it rains,
Look out of the windows in discontent,
And wonder why showers to-day are sent,
Our measures, and pleasures, and plans to prevent,
While it rains, it rains, it rains.

3 The lark feels assured that God knows best
The need of the spring-time rains:
That bright summer sunshine will warm his nest
After the spring-time rains.
The grass in the meadows will greenly grow,
And the corn-blades wave in the valley below,
And the vigorous west winds gaily blow
After these spring-time ruins.

4 Let us, like the lark, look cheerily on,
While it rains, it rains, it rains;
Waiting with faith, till the storm is gone,
While it rains, it rains, it rains.
Tho' misty obscurity hinders the sight,
We know that above the dark cloud there is light,
And the heavens in beauty are shining bright,
While it rains, it rains, it rains.