Page:Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics.djvu/77
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Second
61
Went to the ground: and the repeated air Of sad Electra’s poet had the power To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.J. Milton
lxxi
ON HIS BLINDNESS
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 presentMy 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. J. Milton
lxxii
CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE
How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another’s will; Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill!
Whose passions not his masters are. Whose soul is still prepared for death. Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame, or private breath;