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xxvi
My Day or Night myſelf I make,
When e'er I wake or play,
And could I ever keep awake,
With me 'twere always Day.
With heavy Sighs, I often hear,
You mourn my hopeleſs Woe;
But ſure , with Patience I may bear
A Loſt 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,
Altho' a poor blind Boy.
