Читать книгу The Golden Treasury - Unknown - Страница 75

     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.