New Sight


'Tis said that once a dying girl.

Who on the sea-coast dwelt,

Was asked what she of Jesus thought.

At death's approach she felt.

How beautiful, and how sublime,

This answer to receive: 

"JESUS as limpets to the -rocks,

So unto him I cleave."

O, may we on the living Rock,

With heart as firm abide;

And cling, the rougher beats the storm,

The closer to his side.

Then will our faith and hope grow bright,

Though earthly scenes grow dim;

For he will never those forsake,

Who put their trust in him.

A. A. S.

Rochester, August, 1854.

The Blind Girl And Her Bible.

MANY years ago, said the Rev. Monsieur

As when a student in the University of Geneva,

I was accustomed to spend the long summer

vacations, traveling from village to village

in my native France, preaching in the open

squares the kingdom of God, distributing His

holy word to those who would accept it, and

teaching from house to house the blessed gospel

of Jesus, my master. On such an excursion

in the summer of 1830s, I entered a little vine 

hung cabin in the environs of Dijon. In its

low, wide kitchen, I saw a middle aged woman,

busily ironing, a boy yet too young for labor,

and a girl of some seventeen or eighteen years,

of a sweet serious aspect, platting straw. She

did not raise her eyes as I entered, and, on a

nearer approach, I perceived that she was


Saying that I was one sent to bring glad tidings

of good things, I began to tell them the

story of Christ, his love, his sufferings, his death.

They listened attentively, and tears rolled slowly

from the sightless eyes of the young girl.

It was indeed tidings, new and wonderful, unto

them, for like others of the simple peasantry of

France, they were accustomed to sing sweet

hymns and murmur devout orisons to "blessed

Mary, mother mild," while Christ and his 

salvation were hidden from their hearts. The 

next day, and the next, I, visited the widow's 

poor cottage, and Jesus, the good shepherd, 

gave me new cause for thankfulness, in 

permitting me to guide both mother and 

daughter to the fold of peace.

Poor sightless Marie! How was she affected

when I told her of Him who opened the eyes of

the blind, and read to her how blind Bartimeus

sat by the way-side begging, when he cried unto

Jesus of Nazareth passing by, and received

sight. Then an irrepressible longing, such as

she had never known before, a longing for God's

blessed gift of vision, seized upon the poor blind

girl; not that she sighed to behold the blue

heaven, or the golden light, or to look upon her

mother's smile, or to gaze in her younger 

brother's laughing eyes. No, not these; but she

longed to read the blessed words of Jesus, how

he said, "Come unto me, and I will give you


There dwelt, then in Dijon a man of God, who

had gathered around him a few blind, whom he

had taught to read and work. I sought him

out, told him of Marie, interested him in her,

arranged that she should come an hour every

morning to learn to read, and procured for her

a Bible with raised letters for the blind.

You should have seen her delight as she started

out next morning a warm, bright August

morning one hand locked in her little brother's,

and the other fondly clasping her precious

Bible, to take her first lesson. Alas, poor Marie,

it required a delicate touch to distinguish slight

 raised surface and nice outline of the letters,

her fingers were hard and callous

with the constant platting of straw.

Again and again was the effort made, but to no

purpose. But one day, as she was alone, 

sorrowfully chipping with her little knife the 

rough edges of the straw, a happy thought 

occurred to her. Could not she cut away the 

thick, hard skin from her fingers, and then it 

would grow a new, smooth and soft, like the rosy

 fingers of a child? And so she whittled the skin 

from the poor fingers, heeding not the pain; was

 it not that she might read the word of God?

But the straw work could not cease; it bought

bread, and the wounded fingers were slow to

heal. "When the reading lesson was tried

again, warm drops trickled from the bleeding

fingers along the sacred line. It was all in vain.

After the first bitterness of her disappointment,

Marie strove hard to be cheerful. "God

had opened the eyes of her soul," she said,

"and ought, she not to praise Him?" And the

new Bible! Ah, surely she must carry it back;

Some happier blind girl might pluck the fruit

from this tree of life, and find healing in its 

blessed leaves. And, holding the dear volume 

near to the beating of her heart, she knelt by

her white cot to pray: " Dear and blessed Jesus, 

who lovest the poor and openest the eyes of

the blind, I thank thee that thou hast not hidden

thyself from a poor blind girl. And since

I cannot read thy heavenly words, I pray that

thou wilt whisper them into my soul, that my

spirit may not be dark like my poor eyes. I

can see thee with my heart, dear Jesus, and

thou knowest that I love thee and love thy

holy book." And she touched the open Bible

with her lips. O joy! To the soft lips the slight 

indentations of the raised surface are clearly

perceptible; they trace the sharp outline of the

letters with unerring accuracy. With a low

cry of joy, she passes line after line across her

eager lips, she turns the leaf, the lips lose not

their power. It is all clear, all easy now. The

lips could do what the toil-hardened fingers

could not, they could read.

And twelve-months after, I visited Dijon. The

low kitchen wore its old look, but what a 

beaming, happy face was Marie's, as she sat in

 her rude chair, her basket of straw at her feet,

 reading her beloved Bible. Blind, it was full of 

light. "N'est il pas heureux," she murmured in 

her rich, musical tones, ' n'est il pas heureux 

de baiser ainsi Ics douces paroles pendant que

 j je les lis?" Is it not blessed to kiss the sweet

words as I read?

Dear eloquent lips, which the cold clay kisses

now, told me this little tale, and I listened

with starting tears, thinking how the poor blind

girl would rise up in the judgment to condemn

the many, who "having eyes, see not."

Reader, do you love the blessed words of

Jesus, with a love, heart-deep, heart-warm as

 did the poor blind girl of Burgundy?



A Blind Girl And Her Bible.

WOULD you know the value of the Bible?

Let me introduce you to a scene of deep and

thrilling interest, as related by a minister, an

eye-witness. A young woman, completely blind

and deaf, was brought before a number of

 eminent surgeons, to see if anything could be 

done for her.

Her condition had been produced by a

violent pain in the head. The only method of

communicating with her was by tapping her

hand, which signified no; and by squeezing it,

which signified yes. The surgeons concluded

that her case was incurable, and in reply to her

earnest inquiries, she received the unwelcome

tap. She immediately burst into tears, and

wept aloud in all the bitterness of anguish.

"What," said she, "shall I never see the light

of day, or hear a human voice? Must I remain

shut up in darkness and silence as long as I


And had she again been able to see, she might

have been pointed to the promises of the Bible;

if to hear, they might have been cited for her

comfort. At length a friend that was present,

took up the Bible, and placed it to her breast.

It was a touching and beautiful act. She placed

her hands on it, and asked, Is this the Bible?

Her hand was squeezed in reply. She 

immediately- clasped the Bible in her hands, 

and held it up to her bosom, and exclaimed, 

"This is the only comfort I have left; I shall never

 more be able to look upon its blessed pages, 

but Ican think of the blessed promises I have

 learned from it;" and then began to repeat some

 of its promises: "Cast thy burden upon the Lord,

and he will sustain thee." 'Call upon me in

the day of trouble, and I will deliver thee."

"My grace is sufficient for thee," &c. She dried

her tears, became submissive to the will of God,

and was happy.


JESUS from heaven came down to die

For little children young as I;

So great his love, his life he gave,

Our guilty souls from death to save.

Oh may I love and praise His name,

Who once for me a child became:

Help me, 0 Lord, thy will to do;

My sins forgive, my heart renew.