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 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.' _Keightley's Text._ * * * * * LADY NAIRNE. 54. _The Land o' the Leal._ I'm wearin' awa', John, Like snaw when it's thaw, John, I'm wearin' awa' To the land o' the leal. There's nae sorrow there, John, There's neither cauld nor care, John, The day's aye fair In the land o' the leal. Our bonnie bairn's there, John, She was baith gude and fair, John, And oh! we grudged her sair To the land o' the leal. But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, And joy is comin' fast, John, The joy that's aye to last In the land o' the leal. Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, Sae free the battle fought, John, That sinfu' man e'er brought To the land o' the leal. Oh! dry your glist'ning e'e, John, My soul langs to be free, John, And angels beckon me To the land o' the leal. Noo, haud ye leal and true, John, Your day it's weel near through, John, And I'll welcome you To the land o' the leal. Noo, fare-ye-weel, my ain John, This warld's cares are vain, John, We'll meet, and we'll be fain, In the land o' the leal. _Henderson's Text._ * * * * * ALEXANDER POPE. 55. _Ode on Solitude._ Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire, Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away, In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day. Sound sleep by night; study and ease, Together mix'd; sweet recreation; And innocence, which most does please With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. _1735 Edition._ * * * * * SIR WALTER RALEIGH. 56. _The Night before his Death._