But they who Jordan's swelling tide
No more are call'd to stem,
Whose tears the hand of God hath dried,
Why should we mourn for them?
THE DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND GIRL OF THE AMERICAN ASYLUM AT HARTFORD, CON.
See—while her mute companions share
Those joys which ne'er await the blind,
A moral night of deep despair
Descending, wraps her lonely mind.
Yet deem not, though so dark her path
Heaven strew'd no comfort o'er her lot,
Or in her bitter cup of wrath
The healing drop of balm forgot.
No! still with unambitious mind
The needle's patient task to ply,
At the full board her place to find,
Or close in sleep the placid eye,
With Order's unobtrusive charm
Her simple wardrobe to dispose,
To press of guiding care the arm,
And rove where autumn's bounty flows,
With touch so exquisitely true
That vision stands astonish'd by,
To recognize with ardor due
Some friend or benefactor nigh,—
