Writers Almanac – Sunday, December 9th, 2007
On His Blindness by 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.’
When I consider how my light is spent, seeing the willful constriction of action in favor of a petulant indulgence in wanton emotion, I feel the familiar shackle of shame clasp itself round my mind and begin to sink. But what is a man if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed; consigning his thoughts only to base reality? If Milton had resigned himself to the life of disability that loomed about him, Paradise Lost would never had been written and one of our most significant writers may never had been known. I do not intend to equate myself with the 17th century icon, but his admirable tenacity can be transferred to our contemporary context. Therefore, I resolve to maintain my mental momentum and not permit a recession of action on this “day of rest” nor any other.
a wandering tale. enjoyed.