National Poetry Month: Day 17

On His Blindness
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
Lodg'd 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."      

Comments

Earth Sign Mama said…
This poem has always been a favorite just because it uses words so well. But as I spend more time on earth, I gain a more nuanced understanding of its powerful message. Good one.
4/18/2012 8:30 AM
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