Laura Bridgman

Where is the light that to the eyeHeaven's holy message gave,Tinging the retina with raysFrom sky, and earth, and wave?

Where is the sound that to the soulMysterious passage wrought,And strangely made the moving lipA harp-string for the thought?

All fled! all lost! Not even the roseAn odour leaves behind,That, like a broken reed, might traceThe tablet of the mind.

That mind! It struggles with its fate,The anxious conflict, see!As if through Bastile-bars it soughtCommunion with the free.

Yet still its prison-robe it wearsWithout a prisoner's pain,For happy childhood's beaming sunGlows in each bounding vein.

And bless'd Philosophy is near,In Christian armour bright,To scan the subtlest clew that leadsTo intellectual light.

Say, lurks there not some ray of heavenAmid thy bosom's night,Some echo from a better land,To make the smile so bright?

The lonely lamp in Greenland cell,Deep 'neath a world of snow,Doth cheer the loving household groupThough none beside may know;

And, sweet one, doth our Father's handPlace in thy casket dimA radiant and peculiar lamp,To guide thy steps to Him?