When I consider how my light is spent
By John Milton

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 bentTo 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 preventThat 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 stateIs 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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