Alone

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were - I have not seen
As others saw - I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all l lov'd, I lov'd alone.
Then in my childhood - in the dawn
Of a most stormy life was drawn -
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent or from the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold -
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass'd me flying by -
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(when the rest of heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.

('Alone' - Edgar Alan Poe)

---

When I consider how my light is spent
John Milton

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." |