Lines on Hearing the Singing at the School for the Blind
Dublin Core
Title
Lines on Hearing the Singing at the School for the Blind
Description
We entered noiselessly, - our spirits quelled,
Our passions hushed to quietude: there stole
O'er us a kind of awe, a solemn, deep,
And softening emotion; o'er our souls
The tide unbidden swept; 't was sweet, and yet
It saddened with a sadness which it seemed
Almost a pleasure to indulge, - a sweet
And grateful feeling, tho' 't was sad: we felt
That there was something hallowed in the place -
A sanctity, a magic power, which drew
Our hearts from all frivolity, and gave
A feeling better fitted for the hour
To fill the vacant place: We felt that there, -
In that low simple room, we could not wear
A smiling face, nor utter a light jest,
Nor think a foolish thought.
In silence we sat down, - stillness prevailed,
And all was calm expectancy; and now
Our gaze was fixed upon some humble forms
Which entered at the doorway, and advance,
Slowly and cautiously advanced, - to take
Their own allotted places; as we gazed
We noted the bow'd form, unsteady gait, the step
Wary and fearful, and the outstretched hands;
All these we noted, and our hearts were chill'd!
Soon all was still again: the stifled tones
Of whispering voices had all died away;
But hark! music is heard: a solemn strain
Of holy music falls upon the ear,
The full, the clear, the deep, the swelling tones
Of the loud organ rise upon the air, -
And, hark! ere the entranced ear has time
To drink its fill of those grand sounds, a burst,
A sudden, startling burst of melody
From human voices, - solemn, piercing, loud, -
Strikes on the senses with imposing power!
The mighty chorus ceases all at once,
With startling suddenness; and, for a while,
So deep the pause, - the silence which ensues,
So dead, so breathless, we may almost hear
The throb of our own hearts.
The organ peals again, - and now a strain
Of heavenly sweetness steals upon the ear:
One voice alone is heard, - a female voice!
Wondrous its power and compass, - yet, how sweet!
The liquid tones enter and thrill the soul,
And to the words it breathes distinct, - those words,
So simply solemn, "Hear my prayer, O God!"
The swelling heart responds a deep "Amen!"
Again the pealing organ sounds! - and see,
An aged and gray-headed man has risen!
Hark! now his deep-toned voice is raised in song!
There is no faltering weakness in that voice:
How steadily it dwells upon the notes,
Swelling in lengthened cadence! how it thrills
As it prolongs those deeply solemn words,
"Behold! at the last trumpet's sound, the dead
Shall be raised incorruptible,
And we shall all be changed." How those words
Of mighty import strike upon the heart!
With what deep power, what truthfulness they speak
Sung by that gray-haired, venerable man!
The melody was over; all was hushed;
The last faint sound had died upon the ear;
But, oh! we felt that we were happier,
Better for what we heard; our piety
Had been awakened, and we bore away
From that low room humbler and gentler hearts!
* * * * * *
And they were blind; those gifted souls!
Gifted with such a wondrous power of song!
Blind, - poor and blind! the beauteous face of earth,
With every varied feature, hill and vale,
Ocean and streamlet, cataract and lake,
Meadow and hamlet, tree and grass, and flower;
The vaulted heaven, earth's splendid canopy,
With all its glories, - sun, and moon, and stars,
Its depths of azure and its sailing clouds,
All that is lovely, glorious, and great
In God's creation is to them a blank!
But worse, far worse than this, the face of man
Their fellow-man, they never may behold!
In vain for them the tear of pity falls;
They cannot see the drop! the smile of love,
Affection's kindling eye, the kindly glow
Of sympathetic feeling, these are not for them!
O! bitter, bitter lot! methinks were we
Deprived of these great blessings we would die!
But those afflicted souls seems happy, ay,
Content, and even gay. Blessed be God!
Never does His all-potent will inflict
A burden, but he moulds and forms
And fits the heart to bear it. God is good!
Those sightless beings may have founts of joy! -
Deep wells of happiness unknown to us.
They are deprived of sight, that glorious sense,
Inestimable gift! the loss we know,
But who may know the gain? We must believe
That there is gain, - that each remaining sense
Has its capacity improved, enlarged,
Its source of pleasurable feeling filled
Even to overflowing! Who may tell
The rapture which the sense of sound awakes
In sightless, darkened beings! Who may guess
What are their feelings as they raise on high
Their voices in harmonious song, and hymn
Praises to their Creator? O! 'tis sweet
To think that there are blessings for the blind,
To compensate their loss! It must be so!
We will believe it, for our God is good!
Liverpool
Our passions hushed to quietude: there stole
O'er us a kind of awe, a solemn, deep,
And softening emotion; o'er our souls
The tide unbidden swept; 't was sweet, and yet
It saddened with a sadness which it seemed
Almost a pleasure to indulge, - a sweet
And grateful feeling, tho' 't was sad: we felt
That there was something hallowed in the place -
A sanctity, a magic power, which drew
Our hearts from all frivolity, and gave
A feeling better fitted for the hour
To fill the vacant place: We felt that there, -
In that low simple room, we could not wear
A smiling face, nor utter a light jest,
Nor think a foolish thought.
In silence we sat down, - stillness prevailed,
And all was calm expectancy; and now
Our gaze was fixed upon some humble forms
Which entered at the doorway, and advance,
Slowly and cautiously advanced, - to take
Their own allotted places; as we gazed
We noted the bow'd form, unsteady gait, the step
Wary and fearful, and the outstretched hands;
All these we noted, and our hearts were chill'd!
Soon all was still again: the stifled tones
Of whispering voices had all died away;
But hark! music is heard: a solemn strain
Of holy music falls upon the ear,
The full, the clear, the deep, the swelling tones
Of the loud organ rise upon the air, -
And, hark! ere the entranced ear has time
To drink its fill of those grand sounds, a burst,
A sudden, startling burst of melody
From human voices, - solemn, piercing, loud, -
Strikes on the senses with imposing power!
The mighty chorus ceases all at once,
With startling suddenness; and, for a while,
So deep the pause, - the silence which ensues,
So dead, so breathless, we may almost hear
The throb of our own hearts.
The organ peals again, - and now a strain
Of heavenly sweetness steals upon the ear:
One voice alone is heard, - a female voice!
Wondrous its power and compass, - yet, how sweet!
The liquid tones enter and thrill the soul,
And to the words it breathes distinct, - those words,
So simply solemn, "Hear my prayer, O God!"
The swelling heart responds a deep "Amen!"
Again the pealing organ sounds! - and see,
An aged and gray-headed man has risen!
Hark! now his deep-toned voice is raised in song!
There is no faltering weakness in that voice:
How steadily it dwells upon the notes,
Swelling in lengthened cadence! how it thrills
As it prolongs those deeply solemn words,
"Behold! at the last trumpet's sound, the dead
Shall be raised incorruptible,
And we shall all be changed." How those words
Of mighty import strike upon the heart!
With what deep power, what truthfulness they speak
Sung by that gray-haired, venerable man!
The melody was over; all was hushed;
The last faint sound had died upon the ear;
But, oh! we felt that we were happier,
Better for what we heard; our piety
Had been awakened, and we bore away
From that low room humbler and gentler hearts!
* * * * * *
And they were blind; those gifted souls!
Gifted with such a wondrous power of song!
Blind, - poor and blind! the beauteous face of earth,
With every varied feature, hill and vale,
Ocean and streamlet, cataract and lake,
Meadow and hamlet, tree and grass, and flower;
The vaulted heaven, earth's splendid canopy,
With all its glories, - sun, and moon, and stars,
Its depths of azure and its sailing clouds,
All that is lovely, glorious, and great
In God's creation is to them a blank!
But worse, far worse than this, the face of man
Their fellow-man, they never may behold!
In vain for them the tear of pity falls;
They cannot see the drop! the smile of love,
Affection's kindling eye, the kindly glow
Of sympathetic feeling, these are not for them!
O! bitter, bitter lot! methinks were we
Deprived of these great blessings we would die!
But those afflicted souls seems happy, ay,
Content, and even gay. Blessed be God!
Never does His all-potent will inflict
A burden, but he moulds and forms
And fits the heart to bear it. God is good!
Those sightless beings may have founts of joy! -
Deep wells of happiness unknown to us.
They are deprived of sight, that glorious sense,
Inestimable gift! the loss we know,
But who may know the gain? We must believe
That there is gain, - that each remaining sense
Has its capacity improved, enlarged,
Its source of pleasurable feeling filled
Even to overflowing! Who may tell
The rapture which the sense of sound awakes
In sightless, darkened beings! Who may guess
What are their feelings as they raise on high
Their voices in harmonious song, and hymn
Praises to their Creator? O! 'tis sweet
To think that there are blessings for the blind,
To compensate their loss! It must be so!
We will believe it, for our God is good!
Liverpool
Creator
J.E.C.
Source
New Series 1:30, p. 4
Date
1840.09.26
Collection
Citation
J.E.C., “Lines on Hearing the Singing at the School for the Blind,” Periodical Poets, accessed May 18, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/373.
Comments