On His Blindness by John Milton

• ON HIS BLINDNESS

  by: John Milton (1608-1674)

  HEN 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 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.'

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  While I do see that this poem is, at least to some degree, about God, I don't see exactly where Milton is going with this.