Thursday, June 29, 2006

my grandfather's memorial poem

My grandfather, a lifelong avid reader, missionary, surgeon, and politician, lost his sight to glaucoma and macular degeneration. Yet I never heard him complain about his "plight."

:: Carroll Hardy Long: October 28, 1905 - May 10, 2001 ::

Carroll Hardy Long
around 1928, Edinburgh, Scotland

"Sonnet XIX: On His Blindness"

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 there with 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 of 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