ON HIS BLINDNESS
by: John Milton (1608-1674)
- HEN I consider how my light is
- 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 labor, 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.'
POEMS BY JOHN MILTON
'On His Blindness' is reprinted
from English Poems. Ed. Edward Chauncey Baldwin. New York:
American Book Company, 1908.