This is a poem for the ages. For what purpose are humans on the earth. What work do we have here? What kind of service can we do? As Mary Oliver takes a springtime stroll in the woods, she hears a thrush singing. She goes and stands a the door to see the going ons in the wood and wonders "maybe just looking and listening is the real work." John Milton as he is getting blind, and can't even write poetry like he used to, says "they also serve who only stand and wait."
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."
Singing oneness!
0 Comments