Poems (Jackson)/Spinning

by Helen Hunt Jackson

SPINNING.

IKE a blind spinner in the sun,  I tread my days;I know that all the threads will run  Appointed ways;I know each day will bring its task,And, being blind, no more I ask.

I do not know the use or name  Of that I spin;I only know that some one came,  And laid withinMy hand the thread, and said, "Since youAre blind, but one thing you can do."

Sometimes the threads so rough and fast  And tangled fly, I know wild storms  And fear that IShall fall; but dare not try to findA safer place, since I am blind.

I know not why, but I am sure  That tint and place,In some great fabric to endure  Past time and raceMy threads will have; so from the first,Though blind, I never felt accurst.

I think, perhaps, this trust has sprung  From one short wordSaid over me when I was young,—  So young, I heardIt, knowing not that God's name signedMy brow, and sealed me his, though blind.

But whether this be seal or sign  Within, without,It matters not. The bond divine  I never doubt.I know he set me here, and still,And glad, and blind, I wait His will;

But listen, listen, day by day,  To hear their treadWho bear the finished web away,  And cut the thread,And bring God's message in the sun,"Thou poor blind spinner, work is done."

SPINNING.

"I only know that some one came,  And laid withinMy hand the thread, and said, 'Since youAre blind, but one thing you can do.'"