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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.

John Milton

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John Milton
Age: 65 †
Born: 1608
Born: December 9
Died: 1674
Died: November 8
Poet
Politician
Writer
Ever
Forgiveness
Despair
Justly
Ears
Gracious
Deserve
Evils
Whose
Pardon
Open
Admit
Eye
Final
Evil
Finals

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In discourse more sweet For eloquence the soul, song charms the sense. Others apart sat on a hill retir'd, In thoughts more elevate, and reason'd high Of providence, foreknowledge, will, and fate, Fix'd fate, free-will, foreknowledge absolute And found no end, in wand'ring mazes lost.
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The never-ending flight Of future days.
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Man hath his daily work of body or mind Appointed.
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Heaven, the seat of bliss, Brooks not the works of violence and war.
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True it is that covetousness is rich, modesty starves.
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Truth is compared in Scripture to a streaming fountain if her waters flow not in perpetual progression, they sicken into a muddy pool of conformity and tradition.
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Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.
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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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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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The gay motes that people the sunbeams.
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But infinite in pardon is my Judge.
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