Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Elizabeth ClementineKinney270 The Blind Psalmist
H
In soft, low tones to sacred rhymes,
Devotional, but quaint;
His fingers touched the viol’s strings,
And at their gentle vibratings
The glory of an angel’s wings
Hung o’er that aged saint!
On which the sun its radiance sheds,
Or like the moonlit snow,
Seemed with a lustre half divine
Around his saintly brow to shine,
Till every scar, or time-worn line,
Was gilded with its glow.
As with the spirit’s eyes he gazed
On things invisible—
Reflecting some celestial light—
Were like a tranquil lake at night,
On which two mirrored planets bright
The concave’s glory tell.
Devoutly sang to music quaint,
I saw old Homer rise
With buried centuries from the dead,
The laurel green upon his head,
As when the choir of bards he led,
With rapt, but blinded eyes!
As when the poet there was seen,
And Greece was in her prime;
While Poesy with epic fire
Did once again the Bard inspire,
As when he swept his mighty lyre
To vibrate through all time.
I saw a sightless Bard once more
From dust of ages rise!
I heard the harp and deathless song
Of glorious Milton float along,
Like warblings from the birds that throng
His muse’s Paradise!
A veil before all outer things,
That visual spirits see
A world within, than this more bright,
Peopled with living forms of light,
And strewed with gems, as stars of night
Strew diamonds o’er the sea?
Thou with the quenchless orbs of mind
Canst natural sight o’erreach;
Upborne on Faith’s triumphant wings,
Canst see unutterable things,
Which only through thy viol’s strings,
And in thy songs, find speech.