Classic Poem

I COME to thee blind, despairing,
I grope where I may not see:
Love, thou worker of miracles,
Open my eyes for me.

I come to thee deaf, unheeding,
Beggared of sound and voice:
Love, thou maker of marvels,
Bid me hear and rejoice.

I come to thee shunned—a leper,
Scorned in the sight of men:
Love, whose pardon is cleansing,
Make thou me clean again.

Love, thou worker of miracles,
Maker of marvels sweet,
Love, whose pardon is cleansing,
These my tears on thy feet.