  In hours of meditation fraught With mem'ries of departed days, Comes oft a tender, loving thought Of one who shared our youthful plays. In gayest sports and pleasures rife Whose happy nature reveled so, That on her ardent, joyous life A shadow lay, we did not know; And bade her look one summer night Up to the sky that seemed to hold, In dying sunset splendor bright, All hues of sapphire, red, and gold. How strange the spell that mystified Us all, and hushed our wonted glee, As sadly her sweet voice replied, "Why, don't you know I cannot see?" Too true! those eyes bereft of sight No blemish bare, no drop-serene, But nothing in this world of light And beauty they had ever seen. Their impress lent to brow and cheek, When precious words of sacred truth Led her the Saviour's face to seek. Responsive unto earnest prayers Commingling love and penitence, A blessing came—not unawares— In new and strange experience. And all was light, as Faith's clear eye A brighter world than ours divined; For never clouds obscured the sky That she could see, while we were blind. Oh, it must be an awful thing To be shut out from light of day!— From summer's grace, and bloom of spring In gladness words cannot portray. But haply into every heart May enter that Celestial Light That doth to life's dark ways impart A radiance hid from mortal sight. |
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