THIS ENTERPRISE

Hail, Universal Lord, be bounteous still,

From our Creator, and transgress his will.

With head up-lift above the wave, and eyes,

Deliverance for us all. This enterprise.                                                                                                                                                                                        

Eternal spirit; or have ye chosen this place,

Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste.

Not by sufferance of supernal Power,

By spirits reprobate, and in an hour.                                                                                                                                                                                      

The seat of desolation, void of light,

Nine times the space that measures day and night.

Equaled in all their glories, to inshrine,

A mind not to be changed by place or time.                                                                                                                                                                                  

Meanwhile, the adversary of God and man,

Breaking the horrid silence thus began.

Innumerable force of spirits armed,

Moved on in silence of soft pipes that charmed.                                                                                                                                                                         

Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme,

One next himself in Power, and next in crime.

Out of our envy seek to bring forth good,

Grew darker at their frown, so matched they stood.                                                                                                                                                             

Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky,

In Heaven by many a towers structure high.

Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire,

With floods and whirlwinds and tempestuous fire.                                                                                                                                                                

Henceforth, and never shall my heart thy praise,

Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage.

We war, if war be best, to regain,

Both of lost happiness and lasting pain.                                                                                                                                                                                     

That comes to all; but torture without end,

To punish endless? Wherefore cease we, then?

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace,

To me are all my works; nor man the least.                                                                                                                                                                                

Exhort from me, to bow and sue for grace,

With solemn touches, troubled thoughts and chase.

Into my hands was given, with change to keep,

Or do his errands in the gloomy deep.                                                                                                                                                                                        

Hard Liberty before the easy yoke,

United thoughts and counsels, equal hope.

Then fables yet have feigned or fear conceived,

Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived.                                                                                                                                                                             

Left him at large to his own dark designs,

Explores his solitary flight: sometimes.

His habit fit for speed succinct, and held,

The dismal situation waste and wild.

I may assert eternal providence,

To undergo eternal punishment.

Surer to prosper than prosperity,

Here swallowed up in endless misery.                                                                                                                                                                                        

Before all temples the upright heart and pure,

Doing or suffering: but of this be sure.

Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate,

Yielded with full consent. The happier state.                                                                                                                                                                             

We may with more success hope resolve,

Re-enter Heaven; or else in some mild zone.

Lines from "Paradise Lost"

by John Milton (1667)

re-arranged by Yvonne Renee Moore