HE sate by the way side, an aged man,
Turning his rayless eyeballs still around;
Unled by sight, and guided but by sound;
Cheerless and gloomy was his forehead wan,
Looking, beneath the locks of silver hair,
But sadder for the sunshine settling there.

'Tis noon, high noon—upon the olive wood
The quivering light intensely hot is lying;
Languid, and panting for the air, are sighing,
The flowers within the forest solitude;
The birds are mute, the cattle on the hill
Lie hushed and drowsy,— the world seems still.

But there's a distant murmur, like the sound
Of myriad insects in the sultry air,
And nearer, louder now, it may compare
Unto a far off fountain's echoing bound;
And now it breaks into a thousand streams
Of shouts and voices, like confused dreams.

The old man listens—crowds are drawing near;
Amidst the din, the fall of many feet,
Though faint, and far, and mingled is their beat,
Strikes instantly the beggar's quickened ear:
And now along the path at once they pour,
Like the incoming sea waves on the shore.

'What mean the multitude?' in doubt and fear
The blind man asks, with low and tremulous breath;
They answer him, 'Jesus of Nazareth,
The Mighty and the Merciful, is near.'
The name he knows, and crieth eagerly,
'Have mercy, oh, have mercy upon me!'

'What would'st thou? '—'Lord, I would receive my sight!'
And straight the Saviour opened those dark eyes;
And woods, and rocks, and fields, and summer skies
Stood there before him in excess of light.
So spake the Lord to him who could believe,
'Thy faith hath saved thee, now thy sight receive.'

Is not thy power the same in later times,
Thou Mighty One? Jesus! thou dost not alter;
Thy truth, thy words, thy mercy cannot falter;
And many now, in spirit blind, with crimes
And sorrow, darkening heavily their eyes,
Sit by the paths of life, with mournful cries,

Calling on mortals for relief, in vain.
Thou passest near, and when they cry to thee,
And pray to be illumined, the shadows flee
From their dim eyes, and, like a bursting chain,
The darkness leaves their souls, and joy and light
Stream down upon the newly wakened sight.

And promises, 'midst which the spirit moved,
And saw them not, (as, in his native bowers,
A blind man walks, and cannot see the flowers,)
At once are seen and known, believed and proved;
And the Redeemed from darkness and from death,
Feels he hath sight, and hope, and peace through faith.