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What better can we do than prostrate fall before Him reverent, and there confess humbly our faults, and pardon beg with tears watering the ground?

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Pardon
Faults
Ground
Tears
Prostrate
Fall
Watering
Better
Reverent
Humbly
Confess

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O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death.
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Indu'd With sanctity of reason.
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Therefore God's universal law Gave to the man despotic power Over his female in due awe, Not from that right to part an hour, Smile she or lour.
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Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things persuasion only is to work.
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Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
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Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.
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The love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well.
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Don't hold grudges it's pointless. Jealousy too is a non-cathartic, negative emotion. .
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The olive grove of Academe, Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long.
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Virtue that wavers is not virtue.
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Witness this new-made world, another Heav'n From Heaven Gate not farr, founded in view On the clear Hyaline, the Glassie Sea Of amplitude almost immense, with Starr's Numerous, and every Starr perhaps a world Of destined habitation.
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Books are not absolutely dead things, but do contain a potency of life in them....I know they are as lively and as vigorously productive as those fabulous dragon's teeth and being sown up and down, may chance to spring up armed men.
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Seasoned life of man preserved and stored up in books.
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We read not that Christ ever exercised force but once and that was to drive profane ones out of his Temple, not to force them in.
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If weakness may excuse, What murderer, what traitor, parricide, Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? All wickedness is weakness that plea, therefore, With God or man will gain thee no remission.
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Such joy ambition finds.
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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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It is for homely features to keep home,- They had their name thence coarse complexions And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply The sampler and to tease the huswife's wool. What need a vermeil-tinctur'd lip for that, Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn?
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