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Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Looks
Homeward
Ruth
Melt
Angel
Look

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I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
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For truth is strong next to the Almighty. She needs no policies or stratagems or licensings to make her victorious. These are the shifts and the defences that error uses against her power.
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Rocks whereon greatest men have oftest wreck'd.
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Blind mouths! That scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook.
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Courage never to submit of yield.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet, With charm of earliest birds.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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I call a complete and generous education that which fits a man to perform justly, skillfully, and magnanimously all the offices, both private and public, of peace and war.
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Thoughts that voluntary move Harmonious numbers.
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O visions ill foreseen! Better had I Liv'd ignorant of future, so had borne My part of evil only.
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United thoughts and counsels, equal hope And hazard in the glorious enterprise.
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O why did God, Creator wise, that peopled highest heav'n With Spirits masculine, create at last This novelty on earth, this fair defect Of nature, and not fill the world at once With men as angels without feminine, Or find some other way to generate Mankind?
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And that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?
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Our torments also may in length of time Become our Elements.
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Let us no more contend, nor blame each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive, In offices of love, how we may lighten each other's burden.
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Th'invention all admir'd, and each, how he to be th'inventor miss'd so easy it seem'd once found, which yet unfound most would have thought impossible.
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Here we may reign secure and in my choice To reign is worth ambition, though in hell: Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.
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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.
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The strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair.
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