" I CANNOT see, " my lady writes;
" Get glasses for my blinded sights! "
The plaintive cry brings tears to me
That those bright orbs no longer see.

A century's third has o'er us past,
Since childhood's eyes to eyes we cast, —
Her eyes so black, my eyes so grey, —
They looked the love we dared not say.

Those glorious eyes beamed in my soul
And warmed my blood beyond control,
O'er lands, o'er seas, they softly shone,
I fled, I plead, — they were my own.

And all our children bore her eyes;
Some look down on me from the skies;
Some watch me in this human wild,
And some in children of our child.

Those radiant lenses, fading some,
Tell years autumnal almost come,
I feel remorse to hear her plea:
" Give me my eyes to look on Thee! "

The faithful service rises up,
It fills my eyes, it fills my cup,
It puts my small complaints to rest;
I only feel I have been blest:

One gentle being lived for me,
Looked on me long as she could see,
And will look on me from the skies,
With love eternal in her eyes.