This page has been validated.
xxiv
A
BLIND-BORN'S SONG.
OSay ! what is that Thing call'd Light,
Which I muſt ne'er enjoy?
What are the Bleſſings of the Sight,
Tell your poor blind Boy?
You talk of wond'rous Things you ſee,
You ſay the Sun shines bright;
I feel him warm, but how can he
Then make it Day or Night?
