ERRATA. P. 13. for ftcaming read freaming. POETRY FOR CHILDREN. THE BLIND BOY. OH say what is that thing call'd light Which I must ne'er enjoy ; Oh tell a poor blind boy. You talk of wondrous things you fee; You say the sun shines bright; My day or night myself I make Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I always keep awake With me 'twere always day. With heavy fighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe, But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can know. F 1 Then let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy ; While thus I sing I am a king Although a poor blind boy. SH AND wherefore do the Poor complain? The rich man ask'd of me, And I will answer thee. A 'Twas evening, and the frozen streets Were cheerless to behold, And we were wrapt and coated well, And yet we were a-cold. We met an old bare-headed man, His locks were few and white, I ask'd him what he did abroad In that cold winter's night : 'Twas bitter keen indeed, he faid, But at home no fire had he, To ask for charity. We met a young bare-footed child, And she begg'd loud and bold, I ask'd her what she did abroad When the wind it blew so cold; She said her father was at home And he lay sick a-bed, Abroad to beg for bread. |