THE BLIND MOTHER.
What though no more, we meet her glance,
To our fond look replying?
We know there's love within her heart
Will live when she is dying.
To our fond look replying?
We know there's love within her heart
Will live when she is dying.
Her voice, her smile, her gentle mien,
So angel-like have grown,
That Heaven before her soft, dark eyes
A veil has wisely thrown.
So angel-like have grown,
That Heaven before her soft, dark eyes
A veil has wisely thrown.
Lest mortal-like she might be vain,
Were hers the power to see
Their worship who beside her kneel,
In half idolatry.
Were hers the power to see
Their worship who beside her kneel,
In half idolatry.
Oft from our dazzled human sight,
What might an evil prove,
Kind Heaven in tenderness conceals;
Thus chiding, lest we rove.
What might an evil prove,
Kind Heaven in tenderness conceals;
Thus chiding, lest we rove.
The bard who sweetest sung of Heaven,
First lost his sight of earth;
And those are oft the brightest dreams,
Which sorrow's night gives birth.
First lost his sight of earth;
And those are oft the brightest dreams,
Which sorrow's night gives birth.
All is not dark, though sight be dim—
This thought brings sweet repose;
Heaven's light may shine within the soul,
Though God its windows close.
This thought brings sweet repose;
Heaven's light may shine within the soul,
Though God its windows close.