THE BLIND GRANDFATHER.

1 Though grandfather has long been blind, And his few locks are gray, He loves to hear the summer wind Round his pale temples play.

2 We'll lead him to some quiet place, Some unfrequented nook, Where winds breathe soft, and wild-flowers grace The borders of the brook.

3 There he shall sit, as in a dream, Though nought can he behold, Till the brook's murmuring flow shall seem The voice of friends of old.

4 Think no more of them, aged man, For here thou hast no friend; Think, since this life is but a span, Of joys that have no end.