On His Blindness by John Milton

This sonnet by John Milton (1608-1674) is wonderful. It may take you a few readings to get the sense of it, but it is worth reading again and again. Enjoy!

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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,

     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 deny’d,

     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 milde yoak, 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 waite.

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