The Blind Lamb

By Celia Thaxter

Annotations by Kathryn t. burt

'Twas summer, and softly the ocean 
   Sang, sparkling in light and heat, 
And over the water and over the land 
   The warm south-wind blew sweet. 

And the children played in the sunshine, 
   And shouted and scampered in glee 
O'er the grassy slopes, or the weed-strewn beach, 
   Or rocked on the dreaming sea. 

They had roamed the whole bright morning, 
   The troop of merry boys, 
And in they flocked at noontide, 
   With a clamor of joyful noise. 

And they bore among them gently 
   A wee lamb, white as snow; 
And, "O mamma, mamma, he's blind! 
   He can't tell where to go. 

"And we found him lost and lonely, 
   And we brought him home to you, 
And we're going to feed him and care for him!" 
   Cried the eager little crew. 

"Look, how he falls over everything!" 
   And they set him on his feet, 
And aimlessly he wandered, 
   With a low and mournful[1] bleat. 

Some sign of pity he seemed to ask, 
   And he strove to draw more near, 
When he felt the touch of a human hand, 
   Or a kind voice reach his ear. 

They tethered[2] him in a grassy space 
   Hard by the garden gate, 
And with sweet fresh milk they fed him 
   And cared for him early and late.

But as the golden days went on,
   Forgetful the children grew,
They wearied of tending the poor blind lamb,
   No longer a plaything new.

And so each day I changed his place
   Within the garden fence,
And fed him morn and noon and eve,
   And was his Providence[3].

And he knew the rustle of my gown,
   And every lightest tone,
And when he heard me pass, straightway
   He followed o'er stock and stone.

One dark and balmy[4] evening,
   When the south-wind breathed of rain,
I went to lead my pet within,
   And found but a broken chain.

And a terror fell upon me,
   For round on every side
The circling sea was sending in
   The strength of the full flood-tide.

I called aloud and listened,
   I knew not where to seek;
Out of the dark the warm wet wind
   Blew soft against my cheek,

And naught was heard but the sound of waves
   Crowding against the shore.
Over the dewy grass I ran,
   And called aloud once more.

What reached me out of the distance?
   Surely, a piteous[5] bleat!
I threw my long dress[6] over my arm,
   And followed with flying feet.

Down to the edge of the water,
   Calling again and again,
Answered so clearly, near and more near,
   By that tremulous[7] cry of pain!

I crept to the end of the rocky ledge,
   Black lay the water wide;
Up from among the rippling waves
   Came the shivering voice that cried.

I could not see, but I answered him;
   And, stretching a rescuing hand,
I felt in the darkness his sea-soaked wool,
   And drew him in to the land.

And the poor little creature pressed so close,
   Distracted with delight,
While I dried the brine from his dripping fleece
   With my apron soft and white.

Close in my arms I gathered him,
   More glad than tongue can tell,
And he laid on my shoulder his pretty head;
   He knew that all was well.

And I thought as I bore him swiftly back,
   Content, close-folded thus,
Of the Heavenly Father compassionate,
   Whose pity shall succor[8] us.

I thought of the arms of mercy
   That clasp the world about,
And that not one of His children
   Shall perish in dread and doubt.

For He hears the voices that cry to him,
   And near his love shall draw;
With help and comfort he waits for us,
   The Light and the Life and the Law!

Thaxter, celia. 1872. “the blind lamb.” our young folks: an illustrated magazine for boys and girls, EDS. J.T. trowbridge and lucy larcom, vol. 8: 674-676. https://login.libproxy.uncg.edu/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/docview/137480100?accountid=14604.