Sonnet 19: When I consider how my light is spent

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.”