Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Blind Girl to her Mother

The Blind Girl to Her Mother.

Mother, they say the stars are bright, And the broad heavens are blue—I dream of them by day and night, And think them all like you.

I cannot touch the distant skies, The stars ne'er speak to me—Yet their sweet images arise, And blend with thoughts of thee.

I know not why, but oft I dream Of the fair land of bliss;And when I hear thy voice, I deem, That heaven is like to this.

When my sad heart to thine is pressed, My follies are forgiven,Sweet pleasure warms my beating breast; And this, I say, is heaven.

O Mother will the God above Forgive my faults like thee?Will He bestow such care and love On a blind thing like me?

Dear mother, leave me not alone! Go with me when I die—Lead thy blind daughter to the throne, And stay in yonder sky.