blindness

The blinded boy that shootes so trim, From heaven downe did hie.

Question with boldness even the existence of a God; because, if there be one, he must more approve of the homage of reason, than that of blind-folded fear.

While doing relief work in India I met Abdul. He was old, crippled and blind. He had been a college professor and spoke perfect English. His mind was sharp and clear, and he taught me much about India. Near the end of my stay I asked, "Abdul, what could I pray for - for you?" A smile illuminated his face, and he sighed, "Sister ... I don't know ... I have everything. I stood dumbfounded. This poor man, suffering terrible disfigurement, had everything? Then in his beautific smile I saw his joy, his serenity, his sacred calm. And I knew what Jesus meant when he told us, "Blessed are the poor in spirit." For, wanting nothing, Abdul had that peace which passes all understanding.

There are few of us so blind as not to realize that unless the moral force of religious conviction impels, the goal of truth and lasting international cooperation cannot be attained; there are few of us who do not appreciate the vital truth of the words, "If God does not build the house, those who build it build in vain."

Sometimes, I feel I am really blessed to be blind because I probably would not last a minute if I were able to see things.

Fighting is not the best way to win an argument. If carried to its ultimate conclusions, the old idea of "an eye for an eye" eventually ends in making everybody blind.

To a Mistress Dying Lover. YOUR beauty, ripe and calm and fresh As eastern summers are, Must now, forsaking time and flesh, Add light to some small star. Philosopher. Whilst she yet lives, were stars decay'd, Their light by hers relief might find; But Death will lead her to a shade Where Love is cold and Beauty blind. Lover. Lovers, whose priests all poets are, Think every mistress, when she dies, Is changed at least into a star: And who dares doubt the poet wise? Philosopher. But ask not bodies doom'd to die To what abode they go; Since Knowledge is but Sorrow's spy, It is not safe to know.

I know my soul hath power to know all things, Yet is she blind and ignorant in all: I know I'm one of Nature's little kings, Yet to the least and vilest things am thrall.

"I cannot go to school today," Said little Peggy Ann McKay. "I have the measles and the mumps, A gash, a rash, and purple bumps. My mouth is wet, my throat is dry, I'm going blind in my right eye. . . . . "What's that? What's that you say? You say today is . . . Saturday? G'bye, I'm going out to play!"

Opinion governs all mankind, Like the blind's leading of the blind .