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Only John Milton’s Sonnet 18 Seems Appropriate for Today

I try to only post positive things. After watching the news last night, I could not do so today. Our world is in mourning this week after so much senseless tragedy and loss. My heart aches for the carnage and destruction. I pray for those poor souls effected.

I still wanted to bring you a great poem today, so I turned to John Milton, one of the greatest literary and poetry masters, for something appropriate to this sad time. I was not disappointed.

Sonnet 18: Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter’d saints, whose bones BY John Milton

On the Late Massacre in Piedmont Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughter’d saints, whose bones Lie scatter’d on the Alpine mountains cold, Ev’n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp’d stocks and stones; Forget not: in thy book record their groans Who were thy sheep and in their ancient fold Slain by the bloody Piemontese that roll’d Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans The vales redoubl’d to the hills, and they To Heav’n. Their martyr’d blood and ashes sow O’er all th’ Italian fields where still doth sway The triple tyrant; that from these may grow A hundred-fold, who having learnt thy way Early may fly the Babylonian woe.

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