THE BLIND MOTHER.
What though no more, we meet her glance,
To our fond look replying?
We know there's love within her heart
Will live when she is dying.
To our fond look replying?
We know there's love within her heart
Will live when she is dying.
Her voice, her smile, her gentle mien,
So angel-like have grown,
That Heaven before her soft, dark eyes
A veil has wisely thrown.
So angel-like have grown,
That Heaven before her soft, dark eyes
A veil has wisely thrown.
Lest mortal-like she might be vain,
Were hers the power to see
Their worship who beside her kneel,
In half idolatry.
Were hers the power to see
Their worship who beside her kneel,
In half idolatry.
Oft from our dazzled human sight,
What might an evil prove,
Kind Heaven in tenderness conceals;
Thus chiding, lest we rove.
What might an evil prove,
Kind Heaven in tenderness conceals;
Thus chiding, lest we rove.
