Like a blind spinner in the sun, <br />I tread my days; <br />I know that all the threads will run <br />Appointed ways; <br />I know each day will bring its task, <br />And, being blind, no more I ask. <br /> <br />I do not know the use or name <br />Of that I spin: <br />I only know that some one came, <br />And laid within <br />My hand the thread, and said, 'Since you <br />Are blind, but one thing you can do.' <br /> <br />Sometimes the threads so rough and fast <br />And tangled fly, <br />I know wild storms are sweeping past, <br />And fear that I <br />Shall fall; but dare not try to find <br />A safer place, since I am blind. <br /> <br />I know not why, but I am sure <br />That tint and place, <br />In some great fabric to endure <br />Past time and race, <br />My threads will have; so from the first, <br />Though blind, I never felt accurst. <br /> <br />I think, perhaps. this trust has sprung <br />From one short word <br />Said over me when I was young,-- <br />So young, I heard <br />It, knowing not that God's name signed <br />My brow, and sealed me His, though blind. <br /> <br />But whether this be seal or sign <br />Within, without, <br />It matters not. The bond divine <br />I never doubt. <br />I know He set me here, and still, <br />And glad, and blind, I wait His will; <br /> <br />But listen, listen, day by day, <br />To hear their tread <br />Who bear the finished web away, <br />And cut the thread, <br />And bring God's message in the sun, <br />'Thou poor blind spinner, work is done.'<br /><br />Helen Hunt Jackson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spinning-12/
