11

The Blind Girl.

THEY say the world is beautiful, more fair than thought of love,
And night comes and angel, that writes in gold above;
But oh! 'tis viewless all to me, as the softly breathing wind:
I cannot see those beauteous scenes, for I am blind, I'm blind.

I never saw the birds that sing so sweetly in mine ear,
Nor snowy shroud that winter weaves, around the dying year;
All nature is a sealed book, whose clasp I cannot find,
'Twas never meant for me to read, for I am blind, I'm blind.

But, ah! they tell me far away, in bright eternity,
There is a land o'erspread with flow'rs, which ev'ry eye can see;
Where skies are ever soft and blue, and silver streamlets wind,
Oh when I reach that holy shore, I shall no more be blind.