To Mrs. Eleanor Potts

FOR MANY YEARS AFFLICTED WITH BLINDNESS, ON HEARING HER PLAY ON THE GUITAR .

I SAT beside an aged saint;
It was a pleasure there to be,
Her kind and gentle words to hear,
The calm contented face to see.

She sat in darkness — day's fair light
Had often come and gone,
Gilding the scenes she long had loved:
No more for her they shone.

And fond, familiar voices paid
Affection's homage there;
And as their words of love and truth
Fell on her charmed ear,

She could but think how great the bliss
If she again could ever trace
The looks of love she knew were there
Upon each well-remembered face.

But she had long since felt and said
Of all this — " It is well; "
And the bowed spirit rose, sustained,
Its peace and hope to tell.

She sat in darkness; but the gloom
Was only in the body's eye,
And covered with the clouds of night
Only the objects that were nigh.

But the mind's eye that cloud could pierce,
And things far off descry,
Beyond the bounds of this dull earth
And its encircling sky.

She sat in darkness; but a light
Was hers of heavenly ray,
Shining upon a home on high,
And lighting all her way.

The " light of other days " was hers,
Of happy days now past and gone;
It called up friends long loved and mourned,
And sweetly round her shone.

'Twas then, as by her side I sat,
She softly touched the light guitar,
And tones, that had my childhood charmed,
Fell, in sweet sadness, on my ear.

I had not heard them since; the sounds
Thrilled through my quiv'ring frame,
And scenes, and friends, and joys long past,
Quick at their bidding came.

Those sounds called up a mother's form,
Her voice, her love, and care,
When at her feet, a happy child,
I drank with greedy ear.

The songs she loved, of power to charm
And to exalt the heart,
That thoughts and feelings like her own
They might to me impart.

And if the magic power of song
Its influence o'er me ever threw,
And haply some small meed of fame
To lay of mine be ever due,

These early teachings at her knee,
To these, the high-prized boon I owe,
With all the blessings I have known,
And all I ever hope to know.

I could but thank her for the strain
That called up these forgotten lays,
And kindly bade me share with her
" The light of other days. "

And I prayed that the light of the days to come
Might brighter and brighter prove,
And the gloom of this darkened world be lost
In the light of the world above.
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.