TO A BLIND GIRL.

I do not sigh as some may sigh,
To see thee in thy darkness led
Along the path where sunbeams lie,
And bloom is shed.
I do not weep as some may weep,
Upon thy rayless brow to look;
A boon more rare 'twas thine to keep,
When light forsook.
A glorious boon! Thou shalt not view
One treasure from the earth depart—
Its starry buds, its pearls of dew,
Lie in thy heart.
No need to heed the frosty air,
No need to heed the blasts that chafe,
The scatter'd sheaf, the vintage spare—
Thy hoard is safe.
Thou shalt not mark the silent change
That falls upon the heart like blight,
The smile that grows all cold and strange.—
Bless'd is thy night!
Thou shalt not watch the slow decay,
Nor see the ivy clasp the fane,
Nor trace upon the column gray
The mildew stain.
Ours is the darkness—thine the light.
Within thy brow a glory plays;
Shrine, blossom, dewdrop, all are bright
With quenchless rays.
J. D.