The Blind Boy.

O say ! what is that thing call’d light,1
Which I must ne’er enjoy ;2
What are the blessings of the sight,3
O tell your poor blind boy !4
You talk of wond’rous things you see,5
You say the sun shines bright ;6
I feel him warm, but how can he7
Or make it day or night ?8
My day or night myself I make,9
Whene’er I sleep or play ;10
And could I ever keep awake11
With me t’were always day.12
With heavy sighs I often hear13
You mourn my hapless woe ;14
But sure with patience I can bear15
A loss I ne’er can know.16
Then let not what I cannot have17
My cheer of mind destroy ;18
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king,19
Although a poor blind boy.20