MILTON ON HIS

LOSS OF SIGHT. 193

Milton on his Loss of Sight.

I AM old and blind!

Men point at me as smitten by God's frown;
Afflicted, and deserted of my kind,

Yet I am not cast down.

I am weak, yet strong;

I murmur not that I no longer see;
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,
Father supreme, to thee!

O merciful One!

When men are farthest then Thou art most near; When friends pass by, my helplessness to shun, Thy chariot I hear:

Thy glorious face

Is leaning toward me, and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place-
And there is no more night.

On my bended knee

I recognize Thy purpose, clearly shown;
My vision Thou hast dimm'd that I may see
Thyself, Thyself alone.

I have naught to fear;
This darkness is the shadow of Thy wing;
Beneath it I am almost sacred-here
Can come no evil thing.

O! I seem to stand

Trembling where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, Wrapp'd in the radiance of Thy sinless land Which eye hath never seen.

Visions come and go;

Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow
Of soft and holy song.

It is nothing now,

When Heaven is opening on my sightless eyes;
When airs from Paradise refresh my brow
That earth in darkness lies.

MILTON ON HIS LOSS OF SIGHT. 195

In a purer clime

My being fills with rapture-waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit-strains sublime
Break over me unsought.

Give me now my lyre!

I feel the stirrings of a gift divine;
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,
Lit by no skill of mine.

A Story of School.

THE red light shone through the open door,
From the round declining sun;
And fantastic shadows all about
On the dusty floor were thrown,

As the factory clock told the hour of five,
And the school was almost done.

The mingled hum of the busy town
Rose faint from her lower plain;
And we saw the steeple over the trees
With its motionless golden vane;

And heard the cattle's musical low,
And the rustle of standing grain.

In the open casement a lingering bee
Murmured a drowsy tune;

And from the upland meadows a song,
In the lulls of the afternoon,

Had come on the air that wander'd by
Laden with the scents of June.