Blind

It is the patience of the blind that hurts those who can see; Dear Christ, their patience—this we cannot bear; Here in this storm of Life, their strange tanquility Beats on the heart as drums beat on the air.

In the unbroken darkness, may they have thoughts that shine; Let beauty so betide them with its dream, That they may drink of it as of some magic wine, And in their midnight see God's bright stars gleam.