On His Blindness
John Milton · 1645
Public domain
From The Golden Treasury, selected by Francis Turner Palgrave. John Milton. The text is free of copyright in the United States. This copy is the poem, without the Project Gutenberg header.
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
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
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.