 | Dryburgh Abbey and other poems |  |
THE BLIND BOY DYING.
Mother—Sister—are ye near me?
I awake with closèd eyes;
Eyes still dark—but let me hear ye—
Bless the blind boy, ere he dies!
Is the snow-drop come? dear mother,
Oh! I thought at its last birth
I should never hold another
Snow-drop in my hand on earth!
I awake with closèd eyes;
Eyes still dark—but let me hear ye—
Bless the blind boy, ere he dies!
Is the snow-drop come? dear mother,
Oh! I thought at its last birth
I should never hold another
Snow-drop in my hand on earth!
Something ever in its springing
Seemed my very heart to touch;
June, with all its roses bringing,
Never made me weep so much!
'Twas a sympathy, a feeling
I could scarcely understand;
When I've felt the tear-drop stealing
O'er the snow-drop in my hand.
Seemed my very heart to touch;
June, with all its roses bringing,
Never made me weep so much!
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I could scarcely understand;
When I've felt the tear-drop stealing
O'er the snow-drop in my hand.
So, when I am dead, dear Mother,
When your poor blind boy is gone;
Let the snow-drop, and no other,
Rest his little shroud upon.
It shall go with me to heaven—
It shall bloom at Jesu's feet—
And, when God my sight hath given,
It my vision first shall meet.
When your poor blind boy is gone;
Let the snow-drop, and no other,
Rest his little shroud upon.
It shall go with me to heaven—
It shall bloom at Jesu's feet—
And, when God my sight hath given,
It my vision first shall meet.
Weep not, mother!—Though I'm weeping,
There's no sorrow in my tears.
Should I mourn to wake from sleeping
In those sight-restoring spheres?
Yet I love—so love—that blindness,
Sweet is here, as sight above!
Seraphs cannot show thy kindness,
Angels cannot match thy love,
There's no sorrow in my tears.
Should I mourn to wake from sleeping
In those sight-restoring spheres?
Yet I love—so love—that blindness,
Sweet is here, as sight above!
Seraphs cannot show thy kindness,
Angels cannot match thy love,
No: there is but one—one mother;
Earth but one such heart can find;
And I know thou'lt love no other
As thou lov'st thine own—thy blind!
And I know each Sabbath morning
Thou my grave wilt bend before,
With some flower its stone adorning,
Though I ne'er can thank thee more.
Earth but one such heart can find;
And I know thou'lt love no other
As thou lov'st thine own—thy blind!
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Thou my grave wilt bend before,
With some flower its stone adorning,
Though I ne'er can thank thee more.
Oft the sunlight will be stealing
O'er my dark, cold, burial home,
Like a glance of God revealing
Tidings of a world to come.
Oft the summer birds will warble,
Warble sweetly as of yore;
Whilst these lips lie mute as marble—
All their sighs and sufferings o'er!
O'er my dark, cold, burial home,
Like a glance of God revealing
Tidings of a world to come.
Oft the summer birds will warble,
Warble sweetly as of yore;
Whilst these lips lie mute as marble—
All their sighs and sufferings o'er!
Oh, sometimes, I shiver, mother—
Shudder at the thought of death,
But I strive and strive to smother
That which trembles on my breath:
God will keep me, God will aid me,
He will calm this timorous mood;
For in all I have obeyed thee,
Sought, dear mother, to be good.
Shudder at the thought of death,
But I strive and strive to smother
That which trembles on my breath:
God will keep me, God will aid me,
He will calm this timorous mood;
For in all I have obeyed thee,
Sought, dear mother, to be good.
Clasp me closer,—closer,—nearer;
Lift my throbbing head more high;
Oh! I love you dearer, dearer,
Every moment that I die!
When in heaven my God hath given
Sight, where blindness now hath place,
It will be a second Heaven
There to see my Mother's face.
Lift my throbbing head more high;
Oh! I love you dearer, dearer,
Every moment that I die!
When in heaven my God hath given
Sight, where blindness now hath place,
It will be a second Heaven
There to see my Mother's face.
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