Milton
Blind, glorious, aged martyr, saint, and sage!
The poet's mission God revealed to thee,
To lift men's souls to H IM —to make them free;—
With tyranny and grossness war to wage—
A worshipper of truth and love to be—
To reckon all things nought but these alone;—
To nought but mind and truth to bow the knee—
To make the soul a love-exalted throne!
Man of the noble spirit—Milton, thou
All this didst do! A living type thou wert
Of what the soul of man to be may grow—
The pure perfection of the love-fraught heart!
Milton! from God 's right hand, look down and see
For these, how men adore and honor thee!
The poet's mission God revealed to thee,
To lift men's souls to H IM —to make them free;—
With tyranny and grossness war to wage—
A worshipper of truth and love to be—
To reckon all things nought but these alone;—
To nought but mind and truth to bow the knee—
To make the soul a love-exalted throne!
Man of the noble spirit—Milton, thou
All this didst do! A living type thou wert
Of what the soul of man to be may grow—
The pure perfection of the love-fraught heart!
Milton! from God 's right hand, look down and see
For these, how men adore and honor thee!
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