Poems (Hornblower)/The Blind
THE BLIND.
Alas! for those to whom this frame Of heavenly workmanship is dark;Who hear from whence its beauty came, And yet that beauty never mark;But gaze,with dim and sealed eyes,On the green earth and laughing skies.
They walk abroad, and nature seems Enveloped in a death-like gloom;Unseen its soft and varied gleams, To them 't is but a living tomb:The dawn of the sweet morning lightCan never wake them to delight.
They feel the influence evening brings, Its gentle calm, its cooling shade;But the rich colouring which it flings, O'er fields and woods in bloom arrayed,Alas! to them 'tis joyless all,As spread with a funereal pall.
And yet there is a brighter world Of thought and feeling for them blooms,And, in their inward soul unfurled, A sun more brilliant it illumes;Religion's holier light is theirs,And morning praise, and evening prayers.
And friendship's soft and soothing tone Still gently meets their charmed ear;Mind can with mind communion own, A sympathy for ever dear;Fairer than morning's sunny ray,And lovelier than the close of day.
But ah! there are who walk on earth, With every sense a sealed power,Unconscious from then; hapless birth Of mental charm, or inward dower;No holy hopes to fire then breast,But every nobler aim represt.
And are not these more hapless still, In spirit blinded to the light,That scatters every earthly ill, And shines amidst afflictions night:The blinded heart of those whose eyesNe'er seek communion with the skies?