Rain

By Merlin Compton, age 20  

May 10,  1945

Whence came ye, little drops of moisture?

From what river, what lake, what tree,

From what blade of grass were you stolen by your captor,

The fiery red sun?

Did you like it here on God's green earth?

Did you drink in the symphony of loveliness of the green earth,

even as we  refreshed ourselves with your cooling taste?

Or did you rush on as mortals are prone to do,

Overturning every stone searching for power and wealth,

But finding worse than worthless fool's gold?

Searching diligently for that which was  not there,

Not knowing that happiness and love which we really seek are all around us,

Smiling from all of nature's handiwork,

Waiting only for his caressing touch to spring into being.

Perhaps you liked it here on this mortal planet,

But maybe you possess a wandering and restless soul, even as mine is restless.

Then I know your inner being cried with joy at the thought of a new journey,

New undertakings, new joys and new living.

It is when that great red orb turns his full force upon you that you feel his warm rays,

Asking, compelling you, to rise to better things.

Even in this you are like we, who can only climb to God,

When our full spiritual power shines dazzling in mortal soul.

Without this great energy, both you, vagabond raindrop, and we  would remain

Forever in filthy gutters and in the darkness of sin.

What did you see, happy raindrop, while you were there in God's heaven?

Did you see shining angels arrayed in flowing robes of purest white?

Did you hear the immortal and eternal strains

Of praise coming forth from their golden harps?

Did you see the streets paved with precious stones,

The houses constructed of flawless marble?

Tell me truthfully, raindrop, did you see

Heaven as we  picture it?

Or did you see a true Heaven constructed of perfect love,

Where angel's faces shine with radiance, good will, and knowledge?

Where streets are paved with happiness,

And the buildings are spun of the strongest threads of family ties?

You say you saw all of this and that upon the

Greatest One's divine visage was the most

Serene and magnificent of expressions;

That upon His right side sat a brilliant

Personage just as noble as the Great One

And almost as powerful.

Now I see your purpose, sad raindrop, I know

why you are as you are.

In Christ, upon whom you have looked,

You see the reason you drop in your shape.

Yes!  I see it all now.

As the condemned  son raised His Holy body on a cross to die,

God sought in vain to gather enough tears

Together to mourn His death.

And in failing, He appointed you, plentiful

Yet simple raindrop, to forever mourn

The earthly passing and sacrifice of His Only Begotten Son.

But here is your great beauty, lovely raindrop.

Just as Christ's death brought life and hope

To those who have died in the toils of sin,

So your mourning tears bring forth out of the

Rich earth new and vibrant life, new and vital hope.

Your purpose is great, your meaning is even greater.

And here is truth eternal.

Just as the Heaven's most delicate and lovely flower,

The rainbow is seen through these tears,

So life's greatest joys and most worthwhile moments

Must be viewed through human suffering

And tears of regret,

Before the beautiful colors of happiness

Can be seen and appreciated.

Go to your destiny, little raindrop.

Fill, nourish, strengthen, quench thirst,

But never forget your great calling,

Little symbol of sorrow.

Never forget your holy calling

Never forget that you yourself are holy.

It is a simple and solemn charge.

*************************************************************

This poem marked a small turning point in my new acquaintance with Avon in October of 1947.   Avon and I had been serving as fellow missionaries in Denver, Colorado for two months.  Avon was close to finishing her mission. and I was just beginning mine.  My companion and I lived in a chapel where there was a kitchen and living area.  Avon and her companion lived nearby,  so we studied and had meals together in the chapel,  in addition to attending church meetings and doing missionary and service work together.  

Avon's companion Bonny Snow, my companion Elder Bingham, and me,

studying together in the kitchen of the little chapel where Elder Bingham and I lived.

We got to know each other a bit  during this time, especially when we gathered in the chapel kitchen, reading the "Libro de Mormon,"  (Book of Mormon) and writing letters and journal entries. 

Avon wanted to see a notebook I kept, which was full of quotes and poetry--articles, information about music, and all kinds of materials.  She was surprised that a man would keep such a notebook as she said it was usually women who put together such things.

           She came upon my poem "Rain" and read it and then wanted to know who had written it.   When I said that I had composed it, I think she saw me in a different light. I didn't know it at the time, but she had written many poems herself so she could see my poem through the eyes of a poet. She really liked my poem  and wrote her praise for it in her journal.  She even said there, that at that point she began to think of me as someone she might marry. She asked for a copy of the poem, and I printed one out by hand and gave it to her.    She later included it in her journal.

Avon's Missionary Journal

           Avon wrote: 

           "I was almost overjoyed when he showed me a poem and I said, 'Who wrote that?'  and he answered, 'Yours Truly.'  Rain--the message of it was deep and vast and showed me the insight to this boy;  his thots are sterling and deep-rooted in the Gospel.  His understanding of life is far beyond that of my weak comprehension.  How could I sit there and read that loveliness without having a feeling for him;  the fact that he showed me the poem flattered me; and made me wonder just what he thought of me;  sanely I told him I'd like a copy of it some time;  and then left.  My heart was fuller than it has been for many months.  I can't think of him without hoping in the future. . .with him."

One of Avon's companions, Sister Breitling to the left and Avon to the right. 

             A month later, in  November of 1947,  the new District President made some big changes to our daily activities and really shook things up.   My companion and I  were told not to meet with the lady missionaries  except in Sunday meetings.  Then I was transferred to a different town, after which Avon and I  had no contact at all.  When I left for Texas we didn't know what our relationship was all about.  We had a friendship but didn't know if there could be more.  Avon  was confused by her strong feelings and wrote a poem about how she felt.  We didn't know if we would ever see each other again.  We had just experienced  four months of a strange relationship in which neither of us could allow our feelings for each other to grow or be expressed.  We were concentrating on our missionary work and keeping the mission rules.   When I saw her for the last time before she was released,  in November of 1947,  it was very formal. Just a handshake. No hugs, we were still missionaries.

Merlin and the District President leaving Denver

          Poetry was to continue to bring Avon and me closer together, though,  as you will see.

         Note from Tammy:  I picked this poem for this Easter Day because of its theme and imagery.  I like the description of heaven and my dad's use of language.  Its cute what my mom wrote in her missionary diary about the poem and him--I think it went far in making my mom fall in love with him.  I hope you enjoyed it too. 

          I took all the nature photos except the raindrops.