" THE BLIND BOY "

O say what is that thing called Light,
Which I must never enjoy ;
What are the blessings of the sight,
O tell your poor blind boy !

You talk of wondrous things you see ;
You say the sun shines bright,
I feel him warm, but how can he
Or make it day or night ?

My day or night myself  I make
Whenever I sleep or play :
And could I ever keep awake
With me 'twere always day.

With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe ;
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I never can know.

Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy ;
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,
Although a poor blind boy.