Jeannette and Jo

By Mary Mapes Dodge

Two girls I know—Jeannette and Jo,
And one if always moping;
The other lassie, come what may,
Is ever bravely hoping.

Beauty of face and girlish grace
Are theirs, for joy or sorrow;
Jeannette takes brightly every day,
And Jo dreads each to-morrow.

One early morn they watched the dawn—
I saw them stand together;
Their whole day’s sport, ’twas very plain,
Depended on the weather.

“’Twill storm! ' cried Jo. Jeannette spoke low,
“Yes, but ’twill soon be over.”
And, as she spoke, the sudden shower
Came, beating down the clover.

“I told you so!” cried angry Jo:
“It always is a-raining!”
Then hid her face in dire despair,
Lamenting and complaining.

But sweet Jeannette, quite hopeful yet,—
I tell it to her honor,—
Looked up and waited till the sun
Came streaming in upon her.

The broken clouds sailed off in crowds,
Across a sea of glory.
Jeannette and Jo ran, laughing, in—
Which ends my simple story.

Joy is divine. Come storm, come shine,
The hopeful are the gladdest;
And doubt and dread, children, believe
Of all things are the saddest.

In morning’s light, let youth be bright;
Take in the sunshine tender;
Then, at the close, shall life’s decline
Be full of sunset splendor.

And ye who fret, try, like Jeannette,
To shun all weak complaining;
And not, like Jo, cry out too soon—
“It always is a-raining!”