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  To the Lord General Cromwell  
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To the Lord General Cromwell

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud
Not of war only, but detractions rude,
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude,
To pece and truth thy glorious way has ploughed,
And on the neck of crowned fortune proud
Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued,
While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbued,
And Dunbar field resounds thy praises loud,
And Worchester's laurent wreath. Yet much remains
To conquer still; peace with her victories
No less renowned than war; new foes arise
Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains:
Help us to save free conscience from the paw
Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw.

John Milton . 1608-1674

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To the Lord General Cromwell - John Milton - poetry, poems

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