Chapter 15 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 present

My true account, lest He, returning, chide;

'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?'

I fondly ask: but patienc