  There are faces that pass in a moment, But his face will live till I die. He’d a beard and blue eyes like the Saviour, At least like the face we all know, And we met in the cool of the morning, We met about two years ago. And my heart bade me call out “Good morning,” “Good morning,” he answered to me. But I saw his blue eyes looking elsewhere, Like one who was trying to see. He had come from a hut without windows, A mud hut with only a door, Yet his face was the face of the Saviour, And I fain would speak to him more. So I stopped, for his smile had a sweetness That entered the gates of my soul; I was hungry to know where it came from, That I might its wonders extol. And we talked of the beautiful morning, The scent of the grass and the flowers, And he spoke like a man of refinement, Like one to whom knowledge was power, Of the glory of God and His wonders, And we talked for more than an hour. I forgot that the speaker was sightless, Or a mud hut his dwelling here. Could it be he was just a blind beggar? Was a greater One standing near? And he talked of the hills in their grandeur, As sentinels watching mankind, Of the plains and vales, of sunshine and flowers, Which he only saw in his mind. And he spoke of the poor and the lowly, Of God’s mercy to such as he, Of his gratitude to his Creator, Gratitude, though he could not see. And I stretched out my arms to that beggar, From Syria, over the sea, With the beard and the eyes of our Saviour— At least they looked like that to me. He had taught me a wonderful lesson, The burden a Christian could bear, Who from out the dark caverns of blindness Saw only the things that were fair. And I asked my dear Father forgiveness, My fetters of sin to unbind, That he’d make me to see like that beggar, For I was the one who was blind. |
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