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Christ our Light.

Then shall the eyes of the blind be opened.

Isa. xxxv. 5.

Friedrich Freiherr de la Motte Fouqué. 1777-1843.

Frances E. Cox. Tr. 1864

A thousand years have fleeted,

And, Saviour, still we see

Thy deed of love repeated,

On all who come to Thee.

As he who sat benighted,

Afflicted, poor, and blind,

So now, Thy word is plighted,

Joy, light, and peace I find.

Dark gloom my spirit filling,

Beside the way I sat;

Desire my heart was thrilling,

But anguish more than that:

To me no ray was granted,

Although I heard the psalms

The faithful sweetly chanted,

And felt the waving palms.

With grief my heart was aching,

O’erwhelming were my woes,

Till, heavenborn courage taking,

To Thee my cry arose:

“O David’s Son! relieve me,

My bitter anguish quell;

Thy promised succour give me,

And this dark night dispel.”

With tears that fast were flowing,

I sought Thee through the crowd,

My heart more tender growing,

Until I wept aloud:

Oh! then my grief diminished,

For then they cried to me,

“Blind man, thy woe is finished,

Arise, He calleth thee.”

I came with steps that faltered,

Thy course I felt Thee check;

Then straight my mind was altered,

And bowed my stubborn neck:

Thou saidst, “What art thou seeking?”

“O Lord! that I might see.”

Oh! then I heard Thee speaking;

“Believe, and it shall be.”

Our hope, Lord, faileth never,

When Thou Thy word dost plight;

My fears then ceased for ever,

And all my soul was light.

Thou gavest me Thy blessing;

From former guilt set free,

Now heavenly joy possessing,

O Lord! I follow Thee.

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