Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/384

 JOHN MILTON

327 On His Blindness

WHEN I consider how my light is spent, E're half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one Talent which is death to hide, Lodg'd with me useless, though my Soul more bent

To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, least he returning chide, Doth God exact day-labour, light deny'd, 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 milde yoak, they serve him best, his State

Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed And post o're Land and Ocean without rest:

They also serve who only stand and waite.

328 To Mr. Lawrence

EWRENCE of vertuous Father vertuous Son, Now that the Fields are dank, and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help wast a sullen day, what may be won

From the hard Season gaining time will run On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire The frozen earth; and cloth in fresh attire The Lillie and Rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attick tast, with Wine, whence we may rise To hear the Lute well toucht, or artfull voice

Warble immortal Notes and Tuskan Ayre ?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

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