I see a blind man every day
— Go bravely down the street;
He walks as if the path were clear
— Before his steady feet.
Save when he fumbles with his cane,
— I almost feel he sees
The passers-by who smile at him,
— The flowers and the trees.

He comes to corners where the crowd
— Of traffic swirls about,
But when he hesitates, some hand
— Will always help him out.
He crosses pavements fearlessly —
— It is as if he knows
That there are unknown, watchful friends
— Along the way he goes!

Sometimes we walk through unseen paths,
— Sometimes the road ahead
Is shrouded in the mists of fear;
— But we are being led
As surely as the blind man is. . . .
— And, if we seem to sway,
A hand will find us in the dark
— And guide us on our way.

I see a blind man every day
— Go bravely down the street;
He walks as if the path were clear
— Before his steady feet.
Save when he fumbles with his cane,
— I almost feel he sees
The passers-by who smile at him,
— The flowers and the trees.

He comes to corners where the crowd
— Of traffic swirls about,
But when he hesitates, some hand
— Will always help him out.
He crosses pavements fearlessly —
— It is as if he knows
That there are unknown, watchful friends
— Along the way he goes!

Sometimes we walk through unseen paths,
— Sometimes the road ahead
Is shrouded in the mists of fear;
— But we are being led
As surely as the blind man is. . . .
— And, if we seem to sway,
A hand will find us in the dark
— And guide us on our way.