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This is the month, and this the happy morn, wherein the Son of heaven's eternal King, of wedded Maid and Virgin Mother born, our great redemption from above did bring.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Happy
Christmas
Morn
Born
King
Maid
Mother
Son
Wherein
Great
Kings
Maids
Eternal
Virgin
Months
Virgins
Bring
Redemption
Heaven
Month
Wedded

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A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold, And pavement stars,--as stars to thee appear Seen in the galaxy, that milky way Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest Powder'd with stars.
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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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. . . for beauty stands In the admiration only of weak minds Led captive. Cease to admire, and all her plumes Fall flat and shrink into a trivial toy, At every sudden slighting quite abash'd.
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Evil, be thou my good.
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Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.
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Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.
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There is no Christian duty that is not to be seasoned and set off with cheerishness, which in a thousand outward and intermitting crosses may yet be done well, as in this vale of tears.
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These eyes, tho' clear To outward view of blemish or of spot, Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot, Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not Against Heaven's hand or will, not bate a jot Of heart or hope but still bear up and steer Right onward.
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Come and trip it as ye go On the light fantastic toe.
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How often from the steep Of echoing hill or thicket have we heard Celestial voices to the midnight air, Sole, or responsive each to other's note, Singing their great Creator?
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Temper justice with mercy.
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You can make hell out of heaven and heaven out of hell. It's all in the mind.
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Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptred pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, Or the tale of Troy divine.
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Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand in the sight of God enthroned, our happy state hold, as you yours, while our obedience hold. On other surety none: freely we serve, because we freely love.
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Dim eclipse, disastrous twilight.
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Let no man seek Henceforth to be foretold that shall befall Him or his children.
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Solitude sometimes is best society.
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How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year!
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