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From The Birmingham Age Herald, July 9, 1913.
 By Helen Hunt Jackson.

 Like 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 name or use
     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 are sweeping past,
     And fear that I
 Shall fail; 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 accursed.
 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,
 Am 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.”

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