July ist

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.

Flute