The Blind Boy

"The Blind Boy" 

Colley Cibber (1671-1757) 

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 or 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.