William McGonagall’s verse is a straightforward, heartfelt lament for those who cannot see. The speaker drenches every line in pity, describing blind people as stumbling through a world stripped of comfort and clear direction. They can’t tell friend from enemy, day from night, or even see their own children. The loss is made painfully domestic: a mother no longer knows her baby’s face, a father cannot look upon his wife. Nature’s “livery green” becomes a dim dream, and the joy of reading vanishes into weary, colorless days. The mood is unrelentingly mournful, but it pivots to a direct, almost sermon-like plea. Readers are told to be ashamed of any discontent, to treasure their sight as a gift from God, and to actively help the blind in their distress. The poem feels less like a meditation and more like an urgent appeal whispered in a dark room—sad, simple, and desperate to stir compassion.
The Sorrows of the Blind — Summary
Pity the sorrows of the poor blind, For they can but little comfort find; As they walk along the street, They know not where to put their feet. They are deprived of that earthly joy Of seeing either man, woman, or boy; Sad and lonely through the world they go, Not knowing a friend from a foe: Nor the difference betwixt day and night, For the want of their eyesight; The blind mother cannot see her darling boy, That was once her soul's joy. By day and night, Since she lost her precious sight; To her the world seems dark and drear, And she can find no comfort here. She once found pleasure in reading books, But now pale and careworn are her looks. Since she has lost her eyesight, Everything seems wrong and nothing right.
The face of nature, with all its beauties and livery green, Appears to the blind just like a dream. All things beautiful have vanished from their sight, Which were once their heart's delight. The blind father cannot see his beautiful child, nor wife, That was once the joy of his life; That he was wont to see at morn and night, When he had his eyesight. All comfort has vanished from him now, And a dejected look hangs on his brow.
Kind Christians all, both great and small, Pity the sorrows of the blind, They can but little comfort find; Therefore we ought to be content with our lot, And for the eyesight we have got, And pray to God both day and night To preserve our eyesight; To be always willing to help the blind in their distress, And the Lord will surely bless And guard us by night and day, And remember us at the judgment day.