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As children gath'ring pebbles on the shore. Or if I would delight my private hours With music or with poem, where so soon As in our native language can I find That solace?

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Children
Rings
Would
Delight
Private
Pebbles
Soon
Solace
Hours
Ring
Language
Shore
Music
Poem
Find
Native

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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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How oft, in nations gone corrupt, And by their own devices brought down to servitude, That man chooses bondage before liberty. Bondage with ease before strenuous liberty.
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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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But oh the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone and never must return!
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Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.
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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.
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Fear of change perplexes monarchs.
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Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old When all our fathers worshipped stocks and stones Forget not.
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That space the Evil One abstracted stood From his own evil, and for the time remained Stupidly good, of enmity disarmed, Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge .
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Spirits when they please Can either sex assume, or both.
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By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes.
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Our country is where ever we are well off.
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He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun Himself his own dungeon.
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It was the winter wild, While the Heaven-born child, All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies.
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For neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible, except to God alone.
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Gratitude bestows reverence, allowing us to encounter everyday epiphanies.
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Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
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The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
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But God himself is truth in propagating which, as men display a greater integrity and zeal, they approach nearer to the similitude of God, and possess a greater portion of his love.
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