When I think how so soon my light is spent
 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
 And that one skill whose worth 'tis death to hide
 No use to me now, though my soul more bent
 To serve my Lord, so that it might be sent
 To show my worth, lest he come back and chide;
 "So must I work, with no light as a guide?"
 I ask, but soon I see what must be meant
 And put a stop to it: "God doth not need
 Mere work by man, or his own gifts, who best
 Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
 Is like a king. No few when asked will speed
 And post on land and sea and take no rest:
 They serve him too who can but stand and wait."

                                -- John Milt
                                   (done by cand)