What is that thing called Light
Which I must never enjoy
What are the blessings of the sight
O tell your poor blind boy!
You talk of wonderous 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
Whenever I sleep or play
And could I ever keep awake
With me it were always day
With heavy sighs I often hear
You mourn my hapless woe
Then let not what I cannot have
My cheer of mind destroy
But sure with patience I can bear
A loss I never can know
Whilst thus I sing, I am a king
Although a poor blind boy
Can you help me to be the king in reality
Can you be the guiding light for me