| 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 | 5 |
| 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 | 10 |
| 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. |
On His Blindness West Bengal Board class x English
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