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Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Scripture
Muddy
Tradition
Progression
Flow
Waters
Progress
Fountain
Water
Conformity
Science
Pool
Truth
Perpetual
Sicken
Compared
Streaming

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Yet much remains To conquer still peace hath her victories No less renowned then war, new foes arise Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains: Help us to save free conscience from the paw Of hireling wolves whose gospel is their maw.
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I will not deny but that the best apology against false accusers is silence and sufferance, and honest deeds set against dishonest words.
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Freely we serve, Because we freely love, as in our will To love or not in this we stand or fall.
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His rod revers'd, And backward mutters of dissevering power.
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Oft, on a plat of rising ground, I hear the far-off curfew sound Over some wide-watered shore, Swinging low with sullen roar.
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Zeal and duty are not slow But on occasion's forelock watchful wait.
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Where eldest Night And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold Eternal anarchy amidst the noise Of endless wars, and by confusion stand For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce, Strive here for mast'ry.
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Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep.
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It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.
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My heart contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape.
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And yet on the other hand unless warinesse be us'd, as good almost kill a Man as kill a good Book who kills a Man kills a reasonable creature, Gods Image, but hee who destroyes a good Booke, kills reason it selfe, kills the Image of God, as it were in the eye.
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None But such as are good men can give good things, And that which is not good, is not delicious To a well-govern'd and wise appetite.
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What honour that, But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear So many hollow compliments and lies.
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In discourse more sweet For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
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Fairy elves, Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress.
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The helmed Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd.
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Sweet intercourse of looks and smiles for smiles from reason flow.
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Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light.
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