that fell out of
Updated as of
I copied this from a bookmark that
is in my husband Mike's Bible.
God hath not promised skies always blue,
Flower-strewn pathways, all our lives through;
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.
But God hath promised strength for the day,
Rest for the labour, light for the way,
Grace for the trials, help from above,
Unfailing sympathy, undying love.
Twenty Four Things To Always Remember
And One Thing To Never Forget
Your presence is a present to the world.
You're unique and one of a kind.
Your life can be what you want it to be.
Take the days just one at a time.
Count your blessings, not your troubles.
You'll make it through whatever comes along.
Within you are so many answers.
Understand, have courage, be strong.
Don't put limits on yourself.
So many dreams are waiting to be realized.
Decisions are too important to leave to chance.
Reach for your peak, your goal, and your prize.
Nothing wastes more energy than worrying.
The longer one carries a problem, the heavier it gets.
Don't take things too seriously.
Live a life of serenity, not a life of regrets.
Remember that a little love goes a long way.
Remember that a lot...goes forever.
Remember that friendship is a wise investment.
Life's treasures are people...together.
Realize that it's never too late.
Do ordinary things in extraordinary ways.
Have health and hope and happiness.
Take the time to wish upon a star.
And don't ever forget...
For even a day...
How very special you are.
The Masters Loom
Mans life is laid in the loom of time
to a pattern he does not see,
while the weavers work and the shuttles fly
till the dawn of eternity.
Some shuttles are filled with silver threads
and some with threads of gold,
while often but the darker hues
are all that they may hold.
But the weaver watches with skillful eye
each shuttle fly to and fro,
and sees the pattern so deftly wrought
as the loom moves sure and slow.
God surely planned the pattern:
Each thread, the dark and fair,
is chosen by His master skill
and placed in the web with care.
He only knows its beauty,
and guides the shuttles which hold
the threads so unattractive,
as well as the threads of gold.
Not till each loom is silent,
and the shuttles cease to fly,
shall God reveal the pattern
and explain the reason why.
The dark threads were as needful
in the weavers skillful hand
as the threads of gold and silver
for the pattern which He planned.
Added by special request.
The Plan of the Master Weaver
My life is but a weaving
between the Lord and me,
I may not choose the colors,
He knows what they should be;
For He can view the pattern
Upon the upper side
While I can see it only
On this, the under side.
Sometimes He weaveth sorrow,
Which seemeth strange to me;
But I will trust His judgment,
And work on faithfully;
'Tis He who fills the shuttle,
And He knows what is best,
So I shall weave in earnest,
Leaving to Him the rest.
Not till the loom is silent
and the shuttles cease to fly
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why--
The dark threads are as needed
In the Weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.
I like my new bifocals,
my dentures fit just fine,
my hearing aid is perfect,
but, Lord, I miss my mind!
My Mom used to recite this poem to me.
Life is like a journey,
taken on a train.
With a pair of passengers,
at each window pane.
I may sit beside you
all the journey through.
Or I may sit elsewhere
never knowing you.
But if fate should have it
that I sit by your side,
lets be pleasant travelers,
its so short a ride.
George Bernard Shaw
I copied this verse from a bookmark
I found in my Grandmother-In-Law's Bible.
I met God
in the morning
when my day
was at its best.
And His Presence
came like sunrise,
like a glory
in my breast.
All day long the
all day long He stayed
And we sailed in
oer a very
So I think I
know the secret.
many a troubled way.
You must seek Him
in the morning
If you want Him
through the day!
My ninth grade English teacher
had us learn and recite poems.
All teachers should be as dedicated
to theier work, and their students as she was.
Thank you, Miss Ruth Brimmner, wherever you are.
THE OWL AND THE PUSSYCAT
The Owl an the Pussycat went to sea
In a beautiful pea green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money
Wrapped up in a five pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried: "
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in the wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
Even now there are times
when I see my shadow and
think of this poem.
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,
And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.
He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;
And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.
The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow--
Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;
For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,
And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.
He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,
And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.
He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;
I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me!
One morning, very early, before the sun was up,
I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;
But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,
Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
Robert Louis Stevenson
Where Go The Boats?
Dark brown is the river,
Golden is the sand.
It flows along for ever,
With trees on either hand.
Green leaves a-floating,
Castles of the foam,
Boats of mine a-boating--
Where will all come home?
On goes the river
And out past the mill,
Away down the valley,
Away down the hill.
Away down the river,
A hundred miles or more,
Other little children
Shall bring my boats ashore.
Robert Louis Stevenson
This was my very favorite poem for many years.
It still brings back many fond memories.
THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE
When I was sick and lay
I had two pillows at my head,
And all my toys beside me lay
To keep me happy all the day.
And sometimes for an hour or so
I watched my leaden soldiers go,
With different uniforms and drills,
Among the bed-clothes, through the hills;
And sometimes sent my ships in fleets
All up and down among the sheets;
Or brought my trees and houses out,
And planted cities all about.
I was the giant great and still
That sits upon the pillow-hill,
And sees before him, dale and plain,
The pleasant land of counterpane.
Robert Louis Stevenson