talong kids...

Mt Manalmon

Ode To Beauty

Who gave thee, O Beauty!
The keys of this breast,
Too credulous lover
Of blest and unblest?
Say when in lapsed ages
Thee knew I of old;
Or what was the service
For which I was sold?
When first my eyes saw thee,
I found me thy thrall,
By magical drawings,
Sweet tyrant of all!
I drank at thy fountain
False waters of thirst;
Thou intimate stranger,
Thou latest and first!
Thy dangerous glances
Make women of men;
New-born we are melting
Into nature again.
Lavish, lavish promiser,
Nigh persuading gods to err,
Guest of million painted forms
Which in turn thy glory warms,
The frailest leaf, the mossy bark,
The acorn's cup, the raindrop's arc,
The swinging spider's silver line,
The ruby of the drop of wine,
The shining pebble of the pond,
Thou inscribest with a bond
In thy momentary play
Would bankrupt Nature to repay.

Ah! what avails it
To hide or to shun
Whom the Infinite One
Hath granted his throne?
The heaven high over
Is the deep's lover,
The sun and sea
Informed by thee,
Before me run,
And draw me on,
Yet fly me still,
As Fate refuses
To me the heart Fate for me chooses,
Is it that my opulent soul
Was mingled from the generous whole,
Sea valleys and the deep of skies
Furnished several supplies,
And the sands whereof I'm made
Draw me to them self-betrayed?
I turn the proud portfolios
Which hold the grand designs
Of Salvator, of Guercino,
And Piranesi's lines.
I hear the lofty Pæans
Of the masters of the shell,
Who heard the starry music,
And recount the numbers well:
Olympian bards who sung
Divine Ideas below,
Which always find us young,
And always keep us so.
Oft in streets or humblest places
I detect far wandered graces,
Which from Eden wide astray
In lowly homes have lost their way.

Thee gliding through the sea of form,
Like the lightning through the storm,
Somewhat not to be possessed,
Somewhat not to be caressed,
No feet so fleet could ever find,
No perfect form could ever bind.
Thou eternal fugitive
Hovering over all that live,
Quick and skilful to inspire
Sweet extravagant desire,
Starry space and lily bell
Filling with thy roseate smell,
Wilt not give the lips to taste
Of the nectar which thou hast.

All that's good and great with thee
Stands in deep conspiracy.
Thou hast bribed the dark and lonely
To report thy features only,
And the cold and purple morning
Itself with thoughts of thee adorning,
The leafy dell, the city mart,
Equal trophies of thine art,
E'en the flowing azure air
Thou hast touched for my despair,
And if I languish into dreams,
Again I meet the ardent beams.
Queen of things! I dare not die
In Being's deeps past ear and eye,
Lest there I find the same deceiver,
And be the sport of Fate forever.
Dread power, but dear! if God thou be,
Unmake me quite, or give thyself to me.

Take Time For The Little Things

Take Time For The Little Things
© By Barbara S. Gosa

Take time...to notice the dewy web clinging cautiously to the morning grass.
Take time...to feel the fire's warm glow, and hear the crackling wood as it sparks randomly upwards.
Take time...to smell the sweet aroma of cookies wafting from the bustling kitchen.
Take time...to appreciate the laughter of children enjoying the first days of Spring.
Take time...to listen of the rushing stream as it glides swiftly under fallen limbs and over mossy pebbles.
Take time...to admire the diligence of the chattering squirrels seeking stores for their winter nests.
Take time...to wonder at the intricate crystal patterns frosting early morning windows.
Take time...to notice arid, shriveled leaves crunching with each step, along the tree-lined path.
Take time...to watch Autumn's crispness paint changes from branch to branch, decorating the landscape for a short time.
Take time...to feel the cool breeze blowing in the promise of a summer rain.
Take time...to hear the clicking crickets echoing in the blackness.
Take time...to count the stars as they emerge from the graying sky, one by one filling the dark.
Take time...to hear the lapping waves pound against the grainy surface, then recede in answer.
Take time...to enjoy the fragrant scents of blooming newness and life, sprouting an array of colors where brown slept many long months.
Take time...to follow a firefly as it winks across open-air chasing the evening silence.
Take time...to share a smile.
Take time...to give a hug.
Take time...to acknowledge a kindness.
Take time...to tell someone you care.

Take time...to say, I love you.

This Mountain of Mine By: Vickie L. Shrewsbury

Trapped between the old and new
In awe of what things I could do
If I had more money, and had more time
I would build upon this mountain of mine.

I run with laughter and a merry heart
Climbing to unknown faces there,
No compass or map to get back home
I'm a pioneer in a world of my own.

The terrain is steep, I stop to rest
Annoyed by the pounding in my chest.
Is the path I left behind still there?
I kept climbing, and didn't care!

Oh the beauty of open spaces!
Grassy hills and shady places!
Dividing each patch with split-rail fences
Photo's image, no match for the senses!

What drives me to this place and why?
Its physical beauty, I cannot deny,
Spiritually healing and effervescent,

With every visit, my mood more pleasant!

birthday ni 'Phong"

before ng inuman...

after na ng inuman...eto na mga 'itsuras namin...

L-R(Christian,King,Sir Richard,Phong"the celebrant" & Jeffrey) Ako yung "cynosure"

A Tear to the Eye by: Author Unknown, Source Unknown

Barbara was driving her six-year-old son, Benjamin, to his piano lesson.

They were late, and Barbara was beginning to think she should have cancelled it. There was always so much to do, and Barbara, a night-duty nurse at the local hospital, had recently worked extra shifts.

She was tired. The sleet storm and icy roads added to her tension. Maybe she should turn the car around.

"Mom!" Ben cried. "Look!" Just ahead, a car had lost control on a patch of ice. As Barbara tapped the brakes, the other car spun wildly rolled over, then crashed sideways into a telephone pole.

Barbara pulled over, skidded to a stop and threw open her door. Thank goodness she was a nurse - she might be able to help these unfortunate passengers.

Then she paused. What about Ben? She couldn't take him with her. Little boys shouldn't see scenes like the one she anticipated. But was it safe to leave him alone? What if their car were hit from behind?

For a brief moment Barbara considered going on her way. Someone else was sure to come along. No! "Ben, honey, promise me you'll stay in the car!"

"I will, Mommy," he said as she ran, slipping and sliding toward the crash site. It was worse than she'd feared. Two girls of high school age are in the car. One, the blonde on the passenger side, was dead, killed on impact.

The driver, however was still breathing. She was unconscious and pinned in the wreckage. Barbara quickly applied pressure to the wound in the teenager's head while her practiced eye catalogued the other injuries. A broken leg, maybe two, along with probable internal bleeding. But if help came soon, the girl would live.

A trucker had pulled up and was calling for help on his cellular phone. Soon Barbara heard the ambulance sirens. A few moments later she surrendered her lonely post to rescue workers.

"Good job," one said as he examined the driver's wounds. "You probably saved her life, ma'am." Perhaps.

But as Barbara walked back to her car a feeling of sadness overwhelmed her, especially for the family of the girl who had died. Their lives would never be the same. Oh God, why do such things have to happen?

Slowly Barbara opened her car door. What should she tell Benjamin? He was staring at the crash site, his blue eyes huge. "Mom," he whispered, "did you see it?"

"See what, Honey?" she asked.

"The angel, Mom! He came down from the sky while you were running to the car. And he opened the door, and he took that girl out."

Barbara's eyes filled with tears. "Which door, Ben?"

"The passenger side. He took the girl's hand, and they floated up to Heaven together"

"What about the driver?"

Ben shrugged. "I didn't see anyone else."

Later, Barbara was able to meet the families of the victims. They expressed their gratitude for the help she had provided. Barbara was able to give them something more - Ben's vision.

There was no way he could have known what happened to either of the passengers. Nor could the passenger door have been opened; Barbara had seen its tangle of immovable steel herself. Yet Ben's account brought consolation to a grieving family. Their daughter was safe in Heaven. And they would see her again.

Atheist Couple by: Author Unknown, Source Unknown

There was an atheist couple who had a child. The couple never told their daughter anything about the Lord.
One night when the little girl was 5 years old, the parents fought with each other and the dad shot the mom right in front of the child.

Then, the dad shot himself. The little girl watched it all. She was then sent to a foster home. The foster mom was a Christian and took the child to church.

On the first day of Sunday School, the foster mom told the teacher that the girl had never heard of Jesus, and to have patience with her.

The teacher held up a picture of Jesus and said, "Does anyone know who this is?"
The little girl said, "I do, that's the man who was holding me the night my parents died."