“All service ranks the same with God!
There is no first or last.”
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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, Lodg’d 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. |
John Milton.
She Was a Phantom of Delight.
“She Was a Phantom of Delight” (by William Wordsworth, 1770-1850) is included here because it is a picture of woman as she should be, not made dainty by finery, but by fine ideals—
“And not too good
For human nature’s daily food.”
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She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair; Like Twilight’s, too, her dusky hair: But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn. A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature’s daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller between life and death: The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright, With something of angelic light. |
William Wordsworth.
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.
“Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard” (Gray, 1716-71). I once drove from Windsor Castle through Eton, down the long hedge-bound road which passes the estate of William Penn’s descendants to Stoke Pogis, the little churchyard where this poem was written. They were trimming a great yew-tree under which Gray was said to have written this poem. The scene is one of peace and quiet. The “elegy” was a favourite form of poem with the ancients, but Gray is said to have reached the climax among poets in this style of verse. The great line of the poem is: