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P. 13. for ftcaming read freaming.
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.
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.
AND wherefore do the Poor complain?
The rich man ask'd of me,
And I will answer thee.
'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.