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MY BLIND BABY.
Sleep softly on thy mother's breast, my baby! Thou wilt
have many a colder pillow, ere the banners wave and the bugles
sound thy triumph in life's great battle.
Thou art beautiful, my darling! The curls lie soft and golden
as pale bands of sunlight, above thy pure brow; the smile
brightens round those lips, like moonlight over snow; and
thy soft voice swells with music, like a shell from the Indian
sea, when the southern wind breathes through it.
And yet there is a seal on thy blue eyes, when they are
raised to mine. A faint shadow is upon them, as if the soul
were struggling to gaze forth, and could not; as if thou wert
too pure for earth, and thy glance could only soar upward for
thy lost Eden.
For thee it is in vain that the winds blow the rye-fields into
billows, or the sunshine lies soft and warm on the meadow-land.
In vain that the violets purple dingles and hill-sides, or the
blue sky is bluer than thine eyes. I cannot smile on thee, till
an answer dimples into thy rose-heart cheeks, — my little girl is
blind!
Woe to the life-path round which the clouds have so early
settled! — to the heart which has so early been written desolate!
Woe to my darling, when no longer thy mother's arm
up! Woe to thee, when the green grass is growing, and the
wild-flowers nodding over the heart beneath which thou hast
lain!
And yet, why? Be still, O faithless, unbelieving mother's
heart, — be silent! Is not the blue sky our Father's home? Is
there not one eye which never slumbers? Has not one voice
bidden the blind to see and the lame to walk, and yet do we
dare murmur? Hush thee, baby! angels are whispering to thee
in dreams; and when the dust is on my brow, and the sod upon
my heart, thou shalt walk safely; for unseen hands shall guide
thee, and the blue eyes, closed on earth, shalt be but brighter
and purer in the sunlight of heaven!
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