The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.
Interpretation
The stars serve as a guiding light for those who feel lost or alone.
In this quote, John Milton poetically describes the stars as eternal lamps created by nature, providing illumination and direction to travelers who may feel misguided or isolated. The idea conveys a sense of hope and support from the natural world, suggesting that even when one feels lost, there is always guidance available in the form of the stars.
In practice
When discussing the importance of guidance in difficult times.
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld Of Paradise, so late their happy seat, Waved over by that flaming brand, the gate With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon; The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide; They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.
Ev'n them who kept thy truth so pure of old, When all our fathers worshipp'd stocks and stones.
Abashed the devil stood and felt how awful goodness is and saw Virtue in her shape how lovely: and pined his loss
The end of all learning is to know God, and out of that knowledge to love and imitate Him.
Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape_x000D_ _x000D_ Crush'd the sweet poison of misused wine.
And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters
Well, I know now. I know a little more how much a simple thing like a snowfall can mean to a person
The teeming Autumn big with rich increase, bearing the wanton burden of the prime like widowed wombs after their lords decease.
Over the land freckled with snow half-thawed_x000D_ _x000D_ The speculating rooks at their nests cawed_x000D_ _x000D_ And saw from elm tops, delicate as flower of grass,_x000D_ _x000D_ What we below could not see, Winter pass.
Nature never said to me: Do not be poor; still less did she say: Be rich; her cry to me was always: Be independent.
January gray is here, like a sexton by her grave; February bears the bier, march with grief doth howl and rave, and April weeps -- but, O ye hours! Follow with May's fairest flowers.
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