Milton Slaad's page

In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds
On half the nations, and with fear of change
Perplexes monarchs.

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light.

Squirrelshades wrote:

The planets in their stations list'ning stood,

While the bright pomp ascended jubilant.

Open, ye everlasting gates, they sung,

Open ye heavens, your living doors; let in

The great Creator from his work returned

Better to reign in Hell, than to serve in Heaven.

Awake, arise or be for ever fall’n.

Never can true reconcilement grow where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep...

Somehow I knew you were going to say that.