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To Mr. C.R.
By Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow
FOR MANY YEARS DEPRIVED OF SIGHT.
They say the sun is shining
In all his splendor now,
And clouds in graceful drapery,
Are sailing to an fro.
That birds of brilliant plumage,
Are soaring on the wing;
Exulting in the daylight,
Rejoicing as they sing.
They tell me too that roses,
E'en in my pathway lie;
And decked in rich apparel,
Attract the passers by.
They say the sun when setting,
Is glorious to behold;
And sheds on all at parting,
A radiant crown of gold.
And then the night's pale empress,
With all her glittering train,
The vacant throne ascending,
Resumes her peaceful reign.
That she in queenly beauty,
Subdued yet silvery light,
Makes scarcely less enchanting
Than day, the sober night.
But sights like these so cheering,
Alas, I cannot see!
The daylight and the darkness
Are both alike to me.
Yet there's a world above us,
So beautiful and fair,
That nothing here can equal,
And nought with it compare.
There, in a blaze of glory,
Amidst a countless throng,
The Saviour smiles complacent,
While listening to their song.
Ten thousand times ten thousand,
Their cheerful voices raise,
While golden harps in harmony
Are tuned to sound the praise
Of Him the blest deliverer,
Who conquered when he fell;
The man of many sorrows,
The Great Immanuel.
But stop - I dare not venture
Too far on holy ground;
Its heights are too exalted,
Its depths are too profound.
Yet may I be permitted,
When this brief life is past,
The hope in yon bright heaven,
To find my home at last.
When cleansed from all pollution,
From sin and sorrow free,
I, with unclouded vision,
My Saviour God may see.
Brooklyn, May, 1853.
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