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by 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 Lodged1 with me useless, though my soul more bent2 To serve therewith my Maker3, and present My true account, lest He returning chide4; "Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent That murmur5, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work or His own gifts. Who best Bear His mild yoke6, 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." 点击收听单词发音
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