THE BLIND GIRL AND THE SPRING.

Yes, it is true that I am blind (it was not always thus),

But oft it comes into my mind how God can comfort us.

For if, of some good gift bereft, we bend before His will,

He ever has a blessing left which should our sorrows still.

This very morn I found it so; scarce had the day begun,

Ere with small, pattering, restless feet that hither swiftly run,

The children came in joyous mood, and shouted, “Spring is here!”

And when they led me through the wood, I knew that she was near.

I felt her breath upon my cheek, and while we walked along,

A thousand times I heard her speak the rustling leaves among,

In tones as though a harp had thrilled beneath an angel’s touch,

And all my soul with rapture filled: yet when I said as much,

The others laughed and whispered low, “Nay, nay, it is the wind!”

To them perhaps it might be so; but, ah! if folks are blind,

They learn in every sound that floats around their pathway dark—

The breeze, the brook, the glad bird-notes—some hidden voice to mark.

Therefore, when spring begins to don her garments fresh and gay,

Because I cannot look upon her beauty day by day,

Nor see the pointed crocus flame above the garden mold,

Nor watch the snowy tips that frame the daisy’s heart of gold;

Because unto my longing eyes may never be displayed

The changeful glory of the skies, warm shine and soothing shade,

Nor the great sun’s far-reaching rays which crown the day with light,

Nor yet the star-lit purple haze that comes before the night;

She breathes the tender tale to me, in accents clear and plain,

Until I nearly rend the veil and see it all again.

And though I’m blind, I know quite well, when to the woods we go,

The place to find the wild bluebell, and where the lilies blow;

Shy violets tell me, as I pass, their buds are at my feet,

And through the lengthening meadow-grass run murmurs soft and sweet.

Oh! I thank God that He doth bring such daily joy to me,

For even I can welcome spring, like happy girls who see.