THE BLIND BOY by Colley Cibber
O say, what is that thing call'd Light which I must ne'er 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 and night myself I make, whene'er 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 ne'er 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.
