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Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Life
Gates
Faithful
Sake
Victory
Highest
Suffering
Death
Fortitude
Truth
Gate

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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
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The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
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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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And if by prayer Incessant I could hope to change the will Of Him who all things can, I would not cease To weary Him with my assiduous cries.
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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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In argument with men a woman ever Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause.
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Evil, be thou my good.
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A limbo large and broad, since call'd The Paradise of Fools to few unknown.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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The strongest and the fiercest spirit That fought in heaven, now fiercer by despair.
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Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial To my proportion'd strength.
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For to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise.
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At His birth a star, unseen before in heaven, proclaims Him come.
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And some are fall'n, to disobedience fall'n, And so from Heav'n to deepest Hell O fall From what high state of bliss into what woe!
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And these gems of Heav'n, her starry train.
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Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.
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Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.
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These evils I deserve, and more . . . . Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, Whose ear is ever open, and his eye Gracious to re-admit the suppliant.
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Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, After offence returning, to regain Love once possess'd.
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