John Milton. (1608–1674). Complete Poems.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| On His Blindness |
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| (1655) |
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| 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.” | |
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