Blind Tom, Singing

I

LONG, long ago I saw Blind Tom.
The noisy audience became calm,
And a hush fell o'er the whispering din,
When the blind musician was led in.
A moment vacantly he stood,
'Till, moved by some mysterious mood,
The while the inspiration burned,
He, to the harp that waited, turned,
And, seated there at graceful ease,
He swept his hands along the keys,
Awaking sound so soft and clear
That Silence bent with eager ear
Its faintest whisperings to hear.
He clapped his hands like a little child,
And sang in accents low and mild:
'Dem a gates ajar I'm boun' to see,
Dem a gates ajar I'm boun' to see,
Dem a gates ajar I'm boun' to see,
O, sinner, fare you well.'

II.

He turned those sightless eyes to God,
His thoughts in fields of fancy trod,
Where songs unsung and notes unheard,
And sweeter sounds than song of bird,
Floating on vapory mists of light,
Descended 'round the poor blind wight,
Plashing like rain drops o'er the keys!
And sobbed in tender symphonies
O'er flowery dells where silver streams
Fell tinkling thro' a land of dreams.
He paused, and in a moment more,
We heard a cataract's loud uproar,
And rumbling thunder rolled afar,
And maddened cannon bellowed war;
The drums beat and the fifers blew
Many an old tune that we knew.
Then all was hushed, and, solemnly
The curtain of eternity
Arose; and down the star-lit blue
Of the vast heavens great angels flew,
In happy band, to drift along
On the blind singer's rapturous song:
'Dah's room a 'nuff in heben, I know,
Dah's room a 'nuff in heben, I know,
Dah's room a 'nuff in heben, I know,
O, sinner, fare you well'.

III

He paused, as if some power before
Commanded him to touch no more
His throbbing, ivory plaything. And,
Obedient to that command,
He ceased, and gazed in thankful mood
Toward the Giver of all good.
(O Father, if to all could come
The things revealed to poor Blind Tom,
We, too, would clap our hands in glee,
Rejoiced thy wondrous truths to see.
The scales would leave our blinded eyes,
And earth would be a paradise
Where creed and color, tongue and clime
Would melt away like morning rime;
And, like poor Tom, with self unsought,
All should make melody untaught.)
Long, long with upturned face he stood
As gazing on some heavenly flood.
And no man dared to speak a word --
No soul in that vast audience stirred.
For well we knew that where he stood,
The blind musician talked with God;
Nor did we doubt the silent prayer
Was granted as we watched him there;
For even as he turned to go,
We heard him singing, sweet and low:
'A starry crown I'm a-goin' foh to wear,
A starry crown I'm a-goin' for to wear,
A starry crown I'm agoin' for to wear --
O, sinner, fare you well'.