400
When I consider how my light is spent (a)/
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, (b)/
And that one talent which is death to hide, (b)/
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent (a)/
To serve therewith my Maker, and present (a)/
My true account, lest he returning chide; (b)/
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" (b)/
I fondly ask; but Patience to prevent (a)/
That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need (c)/
Either man's work or his own gifts; who best (d)/
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state (e)/
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed (c)/
And post o'er land and ocean without rest; (d)/
They also serve who only stand and wait." (e)/
What is a sonnet?