The Hillsborough Recorder

CHRIST HEALING THE BLIND.

I weep no more by the way side I lie,
Wrapt in robe of grief:
Frequent the mud and as Christ passed by,
They told my merits. Smiles (
A brief pride uncurbed the quivering lip
Among the chattering crowd,
Spurning their low companions?
By chiding them aloud
Yet still with faith in him they cry,
Their aspirations rise:
Have mercy, Son of God most high,
And open thou our eyes.
He stopped—compassion's waters gush
Within the Saviour's heart;
Bidding the mighty torrent rush,
The sable cloud depart.
He speaks—his holy light doth pour
Her thousand charms abroad,
Their eyes unclose—they stand before
The great Eternal God
No purple robe of kingly dower
Around his form was bound:
No regal gem from earthly power
His holy temples crowned.
But o'er his head a glory gleams
In one transcendent band,
Hid in those bright eternal beams
That round the blest expand.
'Tis thus the true believer's blest,
The smile of faith is given,
To heal the heart-sick, wounded breast,
By sin and sorrow riven.