The Blind Beggar By R S Ward

I heard a beggar humming,
And a thousand folks were coming,
And going on their petty common way.
In the tulmult of a city,
Too preoccupied to pity
A beggar with some matches on a tray.

So I saw him on the morrow,
Where he witnessed mirth and sorrow,
Slip unseen before his darkness-stricken eyes,
Unmoved by Love or Madness,
He recognises Sadness
When nobody his sodden matches buys.

Imprisoned in the darkness,
The World in all its starkness
Is visible to him who cannot see,
The Author of the Ages,
Smiling holds his human pages
To darkened eyes that never will be free.