On His Blindness
John Milton
1608 to 1674
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When I consider how my light is spent
Ere my days in this dark world and wide,
And one talent which is death to hide
Lodg’d with useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
“Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: “God not need
Either man’s work or his own gifts: best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And o’er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve only stand and wait.”