MILTON’S HYMN OF PATIENCE. By ELIZABETH LLOYD HOWELL.

I am old and blind! Men point at me as smitten by God’s frown; Afflicted, and deserted of my kind, Yet I am not cast down. I am weak, yet strong; I murmur not, that I no longer see; Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, Father supreme! to thee. O merciful One! When men are farthest, then thou art most near; When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, Thy chariot I hear. Thy glorious face Is leaning towards me, and its holy light Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place; And there is no more night. On my bended knees, I recognize thy purpose, clearly shown; My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see Thyself, thyself alone. I have naught to fear; This darkness is the shadow of thy wing; Beneath it I am almost sacred; here Can come no evil thing. O, I seem to stand Trembling, where foot of mortal ne’er hath been; Wrapped in the radiance from the sinless land. Which eye hath never seen. Visions come and go; Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng; From angel lips I seem to hear the flow Of soft and holy song. It is nothing now,— When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes, When airs from paradise refresh my brow,— That earth in darkness lies. In a purer clime, My being fills with rapture! waves of thought Roll in upon my spirit! strains sublime Break over me unsought. Give me now my lyre! I feel the stirrings of a gift divine; Within my bosom glows unearthly fire, Lit by no skill of mine.