
When John Milton, the famous 17th century poet and eventual author of the epic Paradise Lost
realized in mid-life that he was going totally blind, he felt a rising sense of
panic. How could a wordsmith be of any value, to God or anyone else, when he
had not even the use of his own two eyes?
When the great night finally descended, he was reduced to dependency and darkness. And
understandably, he agonized over why the Lord would allow such a thing. He
recorded his struggles in a short poem — perhaps his most-quoted piece of work.
“When I consider how my light is spent …” he began. With half a life left to give, what point
would there be in him losing the one great talent he had? It would remain, he
worried, “lodg’d within me useless”, and yet his “soul [was] more bent to serve
therewith [his] Maker”. How could he give an account to the Lord if he could no
longer serve, and in fact, could no longer even see?