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!"

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