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 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." |
--John Milton
this poem, called "On his blindness" written when Milton lost his sight and therefore,
felt himself somewhat, if not entirely useless, reveals the profound
truth that it is not our gifting and how we use them that matters
but that we wait, before and for, God--(even if it makes you
feel like a potted plant.) :)
For some reason it always makes me cry.
You can hear it read, here:
photo taken in St. Ives, UK
No comments:
Post a Comment