The Blind Boy Dying - Charles Swain, 1847

The Blind Boy dying by Charles Swain Mother — Sister — are ye near me? I awake with closed eyes; Eyes still dark — but let me hear ye — Bless the blind boy, ere he dies! Is the snow-drop come? dear mother, Oh! I thought at its last birth I should never hold another Snow-drop in my hand on earth!

Something ever in its springing Seemed my very heart to touch; June, with all its roses bringing, Never made me weep so much! 'Twas a sympathy, a feeling I could scarcely understand; When I've felt the tear-drop stealing O'er the snow-drop in my hand.

So, when I am dead, dear Mother, When your poor blind boy is gone; Let the snow-drop, and no other, Rest his little shroud upon. It shall go with me to heaven — It shall bloom at Jesu's feet — And, when God my sight hath given, It my vision first shall meet.

Weep not, mother! — Though I'm weeping, There's no sorrow in my tears. Should I mourn to wake from sleeping In those sight-restoring spheres? Yet I love — so love — that blindness, Sweet is here, as sight above! Seraphs cannot show thy kindness, Angels cannot match thy love.

No: there is but one — one mother; Earth but one such heart can find; And I know thou'lt love no other As thou lov'st thine own — thy blind! And I know each Sabbath morning Thou my grave wilt bend before, With some flower its stone adorning, Though I ne'er can thank thee more.