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My smile will be a stranger's smile, and yet this heart, for thee,
Will utter many an absent prayer upon a bended knee;
And in sadness, or in sorrow, that face will oft arise,
And like a seraph's, shine o'er me with those blue, peaceful eyes.




THE BLIND.
Alas! for those to whom this frame
Of heavenly workmanship is dark;
Who hear from whence its beauty came,
And yet that beauty never mark;
But gaze,with dim and sealed eyes,
On the green earth and laughing skies.

They walk abroad, and nature seems
Enveloped in a death-like gloom;
Unseen its soft and varied gleams,
To them 't is but a living tomb:
The dawn of the sweet morning light
Can never wake them to delight.