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Sonnet XIX: When I Consider How my Light Is Spent

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
       Lodg’d 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.”
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