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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
Fall
Watering
Better
Reverent
Humbly
Confess
Pardon
Faults
Ground
Tears
Prostrate

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Beauty is nature's brag, and must be shown in courts, at feasts, and high solemnities, where most may wonder at the workmanship.
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Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
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Extol not riches then, the toil of fools, The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare, more apt To slacken virtue, and abate her edge, Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
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The spirits perverse with easy intercourse pass to and fro, to tempt or punish mortals.
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Spirits that live throughout, Vital in every part, not as frail man, In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins, Cannot but by annihilating die.
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O fairest of creation, last and best Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! How art thou lost, how on a sudden lost, Defaced, deflow'red, and now to death devote? Paradise Lost
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A boundless continent, Dark, waste, and wild, under the frown of night Starless expos'd.
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So may'st thou live, till like ripe fruit thou drop Into thy mother's lap.
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Eloquence the soul, song charms the senses.
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It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in th' eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark.
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So on this windy sea of land, the Fiend Walked up and down alone bent on his prey.
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Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Jest, and youthful Jollity, Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple sleek Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides.
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You can make hell out of heaven and heaven out of hell. It's all in the mind.
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So farewell hope, and with hope farewell fear,Farewell remorse: all good to me is lostEvil,be thou my good.
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Thus I set my printless feet O'er the cowslip's velvet head, That bends not as I tread.
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Nor aught availed him now to have built in heaven high towers nor did he scrape by all his engines, but was headlong sent with his industrious crew to build in hell.
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O when meet now Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined?
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