Classic Poem

All the looks those eyes can cast
Must on precious faces fall —
O Remembrance! fix them fast,
Ere the darkness cover all.

What can move him more than this?
Sons and daughters from afar
Bring their youngest, lest he miss
Seeing what their treasures are.

None too soon. Poor longing eyes,
All their seeing has been done!
But the inner light shall rise,
That shall be the blind man's sun.

Little Mary, grandpa's pet,
Softly climbs upon his chair.
Oh! how close a child can get
Without breaking in on prayer.

Lips are moving close to hers,
And though large eyes open wide,
Yet she neither speaks nor stirs,
Having found a place to hide.

Just between the head and breast
She has wedged her golden hair,
On his silver locks to rest,
Casting added glory there.

Lying there so quietly,
Mary hears her own sweet name, —
Looks up eagerly to see
For what end the summons came:

Thinking not, though often told,
Of a some one gone before,
Whose dear name she has in hold,
For whose sake she's loved the more.

Blind, all blind, yet, little one,
To a Mary he can see
Do these prayerful whispers run,
Though he loves you tenderly.