The Blind Boy. A Song. sent me this day, & pricked by Mr. Lewis Morris.
O Say what is that thing called light wch. I Can ne'er En joy?,
[this question mark is directly above the comma sw] what
is the blessing of the sight, O Tell your poor blind Boy.
You talk of wondrous things you see
You say the sun shines bright
I feel it warm , but how can he
then make it day or night?
With heavy sighs I often hear
you mourn my hopeless woe
but sure with patience I may bear
a loss I ne'er Can know
My day or night my Self I make
when e'er I sleep or play
and could I ever keep awake
it would be always day.
Then let not what I Cannot have
my cheer of mind destroy
whilst thus I sing I am a King
altho a poor blind boy.