The _It_ which is the subject of the last six lines is his _Ripeness_: it
will keep pace with his approaching lot; when it arrives he will be ready
for it, whatever it may be. The will of heaven is his happy fate. Even at
three-and-twenty, "he that believeth shall not make haste." Calm and
open-eyed, he works to be ripe, and waits for the work that shall follow.
At forty-five, then, he writes thus concerning his blindness:
When I consider how my life 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 _foolishly._
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."
That is, "stand and wait, ready to go when they are called." Everybody
knows the sonnet, but how could I omit it? Both sonnets will grow more
and more luminous as they are regarded.
The following I incline to think the finest of his short poems, certainly
the grandest of them.
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