2014 Academy Awards on MSN Movies
Quite surprising.
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Drop what you're doing and let's go for a ride........
15 best convertibles of all time - MSN Autos
Your choice
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15 best convertibles of all time - MSN Autos
Your choice
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Today, let's visit a cave in Kentucky........
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/02/trave ... ravel&_r=0
http://www.nytimes.com/2014/03/02/trave ... ravel&_r=0
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The Cry of the Children
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–61)
DO ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, 5
The young birds are chirping in the nest,
The young fawns are playing with the shadows,
The young flowers are blowing toward the west:
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly! 10
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.
Do you question the young children in the sorrow
Why their tears are falling so?
The old man may weep for his to-morrow 15
Which is lost in Long Ago;
The old tree is leafless in the forest,
The old year is ending in the frost,
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest,
The old hope is hardest to be lost: 20
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy Fatherland?
They look up with their pale and sunken faces, 25
And their looks are sad to see,
For the man’s hoary anguish draws and presses
Down the cheeks of infancy;
“Your old earth, they say, “is very dreary,
Our young feet, they say, “are very weak; 30
Few paces have we taken, yet are weary—
Our grave-rest is very far to seek:
Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children,
For the outside earth is cold,
And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering, 35
And the graves are for the old.
“True, say the children, “it may happen
That we die before our time:
Little Alice died last year, her grave is shapen
Like a snowball, in the rime. 40
We looked into the pit prepared to take her:
Was no room for any work in the close clay!
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her,
Crying, ‘Get up, little Alice! it is day.’
If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, 45
With your ear down, little Alice never cries:
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her,
For the smile has time for growing in her eyes:
And merry go her moments, lull’d and still’d in
The shroud by the kirk-chime. 50
It is good when it happens, say the children,
“That we die before our time.
Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have:
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, 55
With a cerement from the grave.
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city,
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do;
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cow-slips pretty,
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through! 60
But they answer, “Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?
Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,
From your pleasures fair and fine!
“For oh, say the children, “we are weary, 65
And we cannot run or leap;
If we car’d for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping,
We fall upon our faces, trying to go; 70
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping,
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring
Through the coal-dark, underground,
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron 75
In the factories, round and round.
“For all day, the wheels are droning, turning;
Their wind comes in our faces,
Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning,
And the walls turn in their places: 80
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling,
Turns the long light that drops adown the wall,
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling,
All are turning, all the day, and we with all.
And all day, the iron wheels are droning, 85
And sometimes we could pray,
‘O ye wheels,’ moaning breaking out in a mad
‘Stop! be silent for to-day!’
Ay, be silent! Let them hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth! 90
Let them touch each other’s hands, in a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals:
Let them prove their living souls against the notion 95
That they live in you, or under you, O wheels!
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the children’s souls, which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindly in the dark. 100
Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers,
To look up to Him and pray;
So the blessed One who blesseth all the others,
Will bless them another day.
They answer, “Who is God that He should hear us, 105
While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirr’d?
When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word.
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door: 110
Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him,
Hears our weeping any more?
“Two words, indeed, of praying we remember,
And at midnight’s hour of harm,
‘Our Father,’ looking upward in the chamber, 115
We say softly for a charm.
We know no other words except ‘Our Father,’
And we think that, in some pause of angels’ song,
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,
And hold both within His right hand which is strong. 120
‘Our Father!’ If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild)
Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,
‘Come and rest with me, my child.’
“But, no! say the children, weeping faster, 125
“He is speechless as a stone:
And they tell us, of His image is the master
Who commands us to work on.
Go to! say the children,—“up in heaven,
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. 130
Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving:
We look up for God, but tears have made us blind.
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving,
O my brothers, what ye preach?
For God’s possible is taught by His world’s loving, 135
And the children doubt of each.
And well may the children weep before you!
They are weary ere they run:
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun. 140
They know the grief of man, without its wisdom;
They sink in man’s despair, without its calm;
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom,
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm:
Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly 145
The harvest of its memories cannot reap,—
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly.
Let them weep! let them weep!
They look up with their pale and sunken faces,
And their look is dread to see, 150
For they mind you of their angels in high places,
With eyes turned on Deity.
“How long, they say, “how long, O cruel nation,
Will you stand, to move the world, on a child’s heart,—
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, 155
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper,
And your purple shows your path!
But the child’s sob in the silence curses deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806–61)
DO ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,
Ere the sorrow comes with years?
They are leaning their young heads against their mothers,
And that cannot stop their tears.
The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, 5
The young birds are chirping in the nest,
The young fawns are playing with the shadows,
The young flowers are blowing toward the west:
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly! 10
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.
Do you question the young children in the sorrow
Why their tears are falling so?
The old man may weep for his to-morrow 15
Which is lost in Long Ago;
The old tree is leafless in the forest,
The old year is ending in the frost,
The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest,
The old hope is hardest to be lost: 20
But the young, young children, O my brothers,
Do you ask them why they stand
Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,
In our happy Fatherland?
They look up with their pale and sunken faces, 25
And their looks are sad to see,
For the man’s hoary anguish draws and presses
Down the cheeks of infancy;
“Your old earth, they say, “is very dreary,
Our young feet, they say, “are very weak; 30
Few paces have we taken, yet are weary—
Our grave-rest is very far to seek:
Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children,
For the outside earth is cold,
And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering, 35
And the graves are for the old.
“True, say the children, “it may happen
That we die before our time:
Little Alice died last year, her grave is shapen
Like a snowball, in the rime. 40
We looked into the pit prepared to take her:
Was no room for any work in the close clay!
From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her,
Crying, ‘Get up, little Alice! it is day.’
If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower, 45
With your ear down, little Alice never cries:
Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her,
For the smile has time for growing in her eyes:
And merry go her moments, lull’d and still’d in
The shroud by the kirk-chime. 50
It is good when it happens, say the children,
“That we die before our time.
Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking
Death in life, as best to have:
They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, 55
With a cerement from the grave.
Go out, children, from the mine and from the city,
Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do;
Pluck your handfuls of the meadow-cow-slips pretty,
Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through! 60
But they answer, “Are your cowslips of the meadows
Like our weeds anear the mine?
Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,
From your pleasures fair and fine!
“For oh, say the children, “we are weary, 65
And we cannot run or leap;
If we car’d for any meadows, it were merely
To drop down in them and sleep.
Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping,
We fall upon our faces, trying to go; 70
And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping,
The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.
For, all day, we drag our burden tiring
Through the coal-dark, underground,
Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron 75
In the factories, round and round.
“For all day, the wheels are droning, turning;
Their wind comes in our faces,
Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning,
And the walls turn in their places: 80
Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling,
Turns the long light that drops adown the wall,
Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling,
All are turning, all the day, and we with all.
And all day, the iron wheels are droning, 85
And sometimes we could pray,
‘O ye wheels,’ moaning breaking out in a mad
‘Stop! be silent for to-day!’
Ay, be silent! Let them hear each other breathing
For a moment, mouth to mouth! 90
Let them touch each other’s hands, in a fresh wreathing
Of their tender human youth!
Let them feel that this cold metallic motion
Is not all the life God fashions or reveals:
Let them prove their living souls against the notion 95
That they live in you, or under you, O wheels!
Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,
Grinding life down from its mark;
And the children’s souls, which God is calling sunward,
Spin on blindly in the dark. 100
Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers,
To look up to Him and pray;
So the blessed One who blesseth all the others,
Will bless them another day.
They answer, “Who is God that He should hear us, 105
While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirr’d?
When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us
Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word.
And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)
Strangers speaking at the door: 110
Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him,
Hears our weeping any more?
“Two words, indeed, of praying we remember,
And at midnight’s hour of harm,
‘Our Father,’ looking upward in the chamber, 115
We say softly for a charm.
We know no other words except ‘Our Father,’
And we think that, in some pause of angels’ song,
God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,
And hold both within His right hand which is strong. 120
‘Our Father!’ If He heard us, He would surely
(For they call Him good and mild)
Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,
‘Come and rest with me, my child.’
“But, no! say the children, weeping faster, 125
“He is speechless as a stone:
And they tell us, of His image is the master
Who commands us to work on.
Go to! say the children,—“up in heaven,
Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find. 130
Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving:
We look up for God, but tears have made us blind.
Do you hear the children weeping and disproving,
O my brothers, what ye preach?
For God’s possible is taught by His world’s loving, 135
And the children doubt of each.
And well may the children weep before you!
They are weary ere they run:
They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun. 140
They know the grief of man, without its wisdom;
They sink in man’s despair, without its calm;
Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom,
Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm:
Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly 145
The harvest of its memories cannot reap,—
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly.
Let them weep! let them weep!
They look up with their pale and sunken faces,
And their look is dread to see, 150
For they mind you of their angels in high places,
With eyes turned on Deity.
“How long, they say, “how long, O cruel nation,
Will you stand, to move the world, on a child’s heart,—
Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, 155
And tread onward to your throne amid the mart?
Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper,
And your purple shows your path!
But the child’s sob in the silence curses deeper
Than the strong man in his wrath.
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LarsMac;1449596 wrote: Ow.
Thank you.
I've been reading a book about writers and Ms. Barrett-Browning and her Robert's story is one of them. So I had to get more information on the couple. She was very intelligent as well as talented. This poem was concerning child labor and written in the mid 1800's. Strong stuff. Apparently, it took the US some years to finally get the message.
Thank you.
I've been reading a book about writers and Ms. Barrett-Browning and her Robert's story is one of them. So I had to get more information on the couple. She was very intelligent as well as talented. This poem was concerning child labor and written in the mid 1800's. Strong stuff. Apparently, it took the US some years to finally get the message.
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Fantastic photos:
World Photo Awards contenders on MSN Photos
World Photo Awards contenders on MSN Photos
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At the Wild Life Festival here in Georgia. Rattlesnakes, old machines,family and a pretty day:
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What to Say to Someone Who is Dying - AgingCare.com
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You can change the word "women" to "people"
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"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."
Yahoo!
Yahoo!
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Early Saturday morning, March 15th, my Dad passed away. So Hubby and I have been up in Maryland with my family the last week. The funeral Mass was held at a small Catholic chapel and was beautiful. His funeral was this past Friday. He had military honors graveside because he served in the Air Force in the 1940's. I received the American flag as his oldest child. When it was time to return to Georgia, I could not say good-bye to my sisters and brothers. I could only say I love them. And I do.
Hubby was wonderful. He was patient, supportive and loving.
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Hubby was wonderful. He was patient, supportive and loving.
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I am Sorry for your loss.
Was wondering where you were off to. We missed you.
Welcome home.
Was wondering where you were off to. We missed you.
Welcome home.
The home of the soul is the Open Road.
- DH Lawrence
- DH Lawrence
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LarsMac;1450779 wrote: I am Sorry for your loss.
Was wondering where you were off to. We missed you.
Welcome home.
Thank you, LarsMac.
Was wondering where you were off to. We missed you.
Welcome home.
Thank you, LarsMac.
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I brought back with me from Maryland alot of old family photographs. I will be posting more in the future. These two are interesting. I'm not sure if my Dad owned the cars, or one of his brothers did. I believe they were taken in the late 1940's/early 50's. The location I know was in Chicago.
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Top photo is a 1954 Chevrolet. The bottom one is a '50 or '51 Dodge
The home of the soul is the Open Road.
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LarsMac;1450889 wrote: Top photo is a 1954 Chevrolet. The bottom one is a '50 or '51 Dodge
Thanks for the info, LarsMac. Early 50's huh? Could have been my Dad's car, but he also had a couple younger brothers who drove as well. I remember late Saturday mornings as times when the guys worked on their cars either cleaning them with the hose and a sudsy bucket, or the hoods popped up, or lying underneath mumbling. The music playing from a portable radio nearby, laughter, the smell of grease and motor oil. I was a nosy little girl at the time in awe of this male and car bonding.
Thanks for the info, LarsMac.
Early 50's huh? Could have been my Dad's car, but he also had a couple younger brothers who drove as well. I remember late Saturday mornings as times when the guys worked on their cars either cleaning them with the hose and a sudsy bucket, or the hoods popped up, or lying underneath mumbling. The music playing from a portable radio nearby, laughter, the smell of grease and motor oil. I was a nosy little girl at the time in awe of this male and car bonding.Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride;1450897 wrote: Thanks for the info, LarsMac. Early 50's huh? Could have been my Dad's car, but he also had a couple younger brothers who drove as well. I remember late Saturday mornings as times when the guys worked on their cars either cleaning them with the hose and a sudsy bucket, or the hoods popped up, or lying underneath mumbling. The music playing from a portable radio nearby, laughter, the smell of grease and motor oil. I was a nosy little girl at the time in awe of this male and car bonding.
Ahh, those were the days. Dad used to let me help, because I was small enough to climb in the engine compartment and get at bolts and such that he had a hard time reaching.
Early 50's huh? Could have been my Dad's car, but he also had a couple younger brothers who drove as well. I remember late Saturday mornings as times when the guys worked on their cars either cleaning them with the hose and a sudsy bucket, or the hoods popped up, or lying underneath mumbling. The music playing from a portable radio nearby, laughter, the smell of grease and motor oil. I was a nosy little girl at the time in awe of this male and car bonding.Ahh, those were the days. Dad used to let me help, because I was small enough to climb in the engine compartment and get at bolts and such that he had a hard time reaching.
The home of the soul is the Open Road.
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Happiness
So stop waiting until you finish school,
until you go back to school,
until you lose ten pounds,
until you gain ten pounds,
until you have kids,
until your kids leave the house,
until you start work,
until you retire,
until you get married,
until you get divorced,
until Friday night,
until Sunday morning,
until you get a new car or home,
until your car or home is paid off,
until spring, until summer, until fall, until winter,
until you are off welfare,
until the first or fifteenth,
until your song comes on,
until you've had a drink,
until you've sobered up,
until you die,
until you are born again
to decide that there is no better time than right now to be happy...
Author Unknown
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So stop waiting until you finish school,
until you go back to school,
until you lose ten pounds,
until you gain ten pounds,
until you have kids,
until your kids leave the house,
until you start work,
until you retire,
until you get married,
until you get divorced,
until Friday night,
until Sunday morning,
until you get a new car or home,
until your car or home is paid off,
until spring, until summer, until fall, until winter,
until you are off welfare,
until the first or fifteenth,
until your song comes on,
until you've had a drink,
until you've sobered up,
until you die,
until you are born again
to decide that there is no better time than right now to be happy...
Author Unknown
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This is the flag I received at my Dad's funeral. Hubby and I bought a frame on the internet to encase it.
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Just my Senior class photo from HIgh School:
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Just a thought.......................
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My Kindergarten class. Mostly boys I see. My five year old mind couldn't figure out why I had to go to school at first. :wah: But I did get to enjoy it and realized I had alot to learn.
Can you find me?
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Can you find me?
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A few portraits of me as a student:
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High school graduation day, with my little sister.
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DEAR ABBY: I'm 15. Yesterday, they told our class that one of my friend's parents had died suddenly. Every single person in our grade cried, except for me. I felt bad about not crying for my friend's loss, but I just didn't.
Another friend told me that last night people were texting, and it had been mentioned several times that I wasn't crying and that it looked like I didn't care, even though I do. I feel bad about not crying, but I don't want to lie and say that I did. Please help me. -- DRY-EYED IN COLORADO
DEAR DRY-EYED: If you feel that any explanation is called for, simply say that when you heard the news you were so stunned that you couldn't cry. Your reaction is very common. When bad news is conveyed, some people are just struck numb. Believe me, not everyone who can cry on command is necessarily grieving.
“Tears are words the heart can't express
Another friend told me that last night people were texting, and it had been mentioned several times that I wasn't crying and that it looked like I didn't care, even though I do. I feel bad about not crying, but I don't want to lie and say that I did. Please help me. -- DRY-EYED IN COLORADO
DEAR DRY-EYED: If you feel that any explanation is called for, simply say that when you heard the news you were so stunned that you couldn't cry. Your reaction is very common. When bad news is conveyed, some people are just struck numb. Believe me, not everyone who can cry on command is necessarily grieving.
“Tears are words the heart can't express
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A rainy Sunday.
So, I watched "The Brothers Karamozov", "Rasputin", and some episodes of "Rich Man Poor Man" on my computer. Besides other things.
Not a boring day at all.
So, I watched "The Brothers Karamozov", "Rasputin", and some episodes of "Rich Man Poor Man" on my computer. Besides other things.
Not a boring day at all.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
DEAR ABBY: My 1-year-old baby recently passed away. I have two other children, one with special needs. I find it irritating and not at all comforting when people tell me that "at least I have other children and that I should concentrate on them."
How can I politely tell them that I have never stopped taking care of my other children, and that nothing eases the pain of burying your child? -- MOURNING MY BABY IN PUERTO RICO
DEAR MOURNING: Please accept my deepest sympathy for the loss of your child. My heart goes out to you.
While I can imagine that you might be tempted to lash out at these insensitive individuals, I hope you realize their comments are made out of ignorance. Sometimes it isn't what you say as much as how you say it. In a case like this, exactly what you have written to me would be an appropriate response as long as it is said calmly and without anger.
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How can I politely tell them that I have never stopped taking care of my other children, and that nothing eases the pain of burying your child? -- MOURNING MY BABY IN PUERTO RICO
DEAR MOURNING: Please accept my deepest sympathy for the loss of your child. My heart goes out to you.
While I can imagine that you might be tempted to lash out at these insensitive individuals, I hope you realize their comments are made out of ignorance. Sometimes it isn't what you say as much as how you say it. In a case like this, exactly what you have written to me would be an appropriate response as long as it is said calmly and without anger.
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Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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along-for-the-ride
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- Joined: Wed Mar 02, 2005 4:28 pm
AFTR's Daily Commute
Get your kicks on Route 66 - CNN.com
Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
Just for fun........................
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Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
Scenes for yesterday:
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Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
'Blood moon' will be a sight to behold, weather permitting - CNN.com
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Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
DEAR ABBY: My husband and I are approaching our 25th anniversary. We don't have a lot of money to spend on a large party (our sons are 14 and 17). Are there inexpensive solutions? I'd prefer not to have it at our house. -- STUMPED IN GEORGIA
DEAR STUMPED: Because you don't want to entertain at your home, consider holding the celebration at a park, limiting the guest list and making it a potluck.
Good idea!
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DEAR STUMPED: Because you don't want to entertain at your home, consider holding the celebration at a park, limiting the guest list and making it a potluck.
Good idea!
Attached files
Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
Best places to experience Native American culture - CNN.com
The "Indian Taco" is delicious.
The "Indian Taco" is delicious.
Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
DEAR ABBY: I recently moved into a lovely house located not far from a funeral home. From time to time, funeral processions pass by my house.
Is there a way for an outsider to quietly pay respects without making the people in the procession uncomfortable? I feel bad ignoring them and just going about my business. I don't wear hats, or I'd remove it. I'm also not Catholic, so the sign of the cross doesn't seem appropriate. Any ideas? -- RESPECTFUL IN NEW JERSEY
DEAR RESPECTFUL: While no gesture is required, if you happen to be outside when a funeral procession passes by, pause from what you're doing and place your right hand over your heart to acknowledge the mourners' grief. I'm sure your thoughtfulness will be appreciated.
Is there a way for an outsider to quietly pay respects without making the people in the procession uncomfortable? I feel bad ignoring them and just going about my business. I don't wear hats, or I'd remove it. I'm also not Catholic, so the sign of the cross doesn't seem appropriate. Any ideas? -- RESPECTFUL IN NEW JERSEY
DEAR RESPECTFUL: While no gesture is required, if you happen to be outside when a funeral procession passes by, pause from what you're doing and place your right hand over your heart to acknowledge the mourners' grief. I'm sure your thoughtfulness will be appreciated.
Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
Some fantastic photos:
https://travel.yahoo.com/photos/13-ghos ... slideshow/
Would you like to visit any of these places?
https://travel.yahoo.com/photos/13-ghos ... slideshow/
Would you like to visit any of these places?
Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
AFTR's Daily Commute
along-for-the-ride;1452007 wrote: Some fantastic photos:
Would you like to visit any of these places?
I've been to 4 of them. They missed a few in the western US too.
Would you like to visit any of these places?
I've been to 4 of them. They missed a few in the western US too.
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along-for-the-ride
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
A Prayer for Easter Morning
0 Lord Jesus Christ, who upon this day did conquer death and rise from the dead,
and who are alive for ever more, help us never to forget your Risen Presence forever with us.
Help us to remember,
That you are with us in every time of perplexity to guide and to direct;
That you are with us in every time of sorrow to comfort and console;
That you are with us in every time of temptation to strengthen and to inspire;
That you are with us in every time of loneliness to cheer and befriend;
That you are with us even in death to bring us to the glory of your side.
Make us to be certain that there is nothing in time or in eternity which can separate us from you,so that in your presence we may meet life with gallantry and death without fear.
You turn our darkness into light, in your light we shall see light.
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
Christ the Lord is risen today!
ALLELUIA
0 Lord Jesus Christ, who upon this day did conquer death and rise from the dead,
and who are alive for ever more, help us never to forget your Risen Presence forever with us.
Help us to remember,
That you are with us in every time of perplexity to guide and to direct;
That you are with us in every time of sorrow to comfort and console;
That you are with us in every time of temptation to strengthen and to inspire;
That you are with us in every time of loneliness to cheer and befriend;
That you are with us even in death to bring us to the glory of your side.
Make us to be certain that there is nothing in time or in eternity which can separate us from you,so that in your presence we may meet life with gallantry and death without fear.
You turn our darkness into light, in your light we shall see light.
Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.
Christ the Lord is risen today!
ALLELUIA
Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
April showers bring May flowers,
That is what they say.
But if all the showers turned to flowers,
We’d have quite a colourful day!
There’d be bluebells and cockleshells,
Tulips red and green,
Daffodils and Chinese squill,
The brightest you’ve ever seen.
You’d see tiger lilies and water lilies,
Carnations pink and blue,
Forget-me-not and small sundrop
Glistening with the dew.
We’d have fireweed and milkweed
And many more different flowers.
Mexican star and shooting star,
Falling in the showers.
And if all the showers turned to flowers
On that rainy April day,
Would all the flowers turn to showers
In the sunny month of May?
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That is what they say.
But if all the showers turned to flowers,
We’d have quite a colourful day!
There’d be bluebells and cockleshells,
Tulips red and green,
Daffodils and Chinese squill,
The brightest you’ve ever seen.
You’d see tiger lilies and water lilies,
Carnations pink and blue,
Forget-me-not and small sundrop
Glistening with the dew.
We’d have fireweed and milkweed
And many more different flowers.
Mexican star and shooting star,
Falling in the showers.
And if all the showers turned to flowers
On that rainy April day,
Would all the flowers turn to showers
In the sunny month of May?
Attached files
Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
Administrative Professionals Day in United States
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Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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AFTR's Daily Commute
Just some photos taken over the years of me as a mom
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Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.
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along-for-the-ride
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- Joined: Wed Mar 02, 2005 4:28 pm
AFTR's Daily Commute
Today is Arbor Day...................
https://www.flickr.com/photos/flickr/ga ... 294692514/
Gorgeous!
And now some of my photos:
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https://www.flickr.com/photos/flickr/ga ... 294692514/
Gorgeous!
And now some of my photos:
Attached files
Life is a Highway. Let's share the Commute.