When I consider how my light is spent, | a | ||||
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, | b | ||||
And that one talent which is death to hide, | b | ||||
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent | a | ||||
5 |
To serve therewith my maker, and present | a | |||
My true account, lest he returning chide, | b | ||||
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied? | b | ||||
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent | a | ||||
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need | c | ||||
10 |
Either man's work or his own gifts, who best | d | |||
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best, his state | e | ||||
Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed | c | ||||
And post o'er land and ocean without rest: | d | ||||
They also serve who only stand and wait. | e | ||||
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