Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By John Milton (16081674)On his Blindness
WHEN I consider how my light is spent | |
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, | |
And that one talent, which is death to hide, | |
Lodged with me useless,—though my soul more bent | |
To serve therewith my Maker, and present | 5 |
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 doth not need | |
Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best | 10 |
Bear his mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state | |
Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed, | |
And post o’er land and ocean without rest; | |
They also serve who only stand and wait.” | |