– 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
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."
Sonnet 19 (Sonnet XIX)
Tuesday, 26 January 2010
Milton is always a challenge to read, even when it is not Paradise Lost. The fact that he navigated the chaos of the English Civil War and emerged with an international reputation but in internal exile and poverty speaks of his integrity. I might disagree theological with him, but he continues to speak profoundly to me.