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 within My hand the thread, and said, "Since you Are blind, but one thing you can do."
Sometimes the threads so rough and fast And tangled fly, I know wild storms And fear that I Shall fall; but dare not try to find A 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 race My threads will have; so from the first, Though blind, I never felt accurst.
I think, perhaps, this trust has sprung From one short word Said over me when I was young,— So young, I heard It, knowing not that God's name signed My 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 tread Who 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 within My hand the thread, and said, 'Since you Are blind, but one thing you can do.'"
IKE a blind spinner in the sun,
