*Inspirations*
Life is short & unpredictable,live life to the fullest. Enjoy things that you like to do.
There will definitely be so many things in life you have not done, so many countries you have not visited, so many food that you have not tasted, so many people you have not met. Follow the Lord with all your heart & Live life to the fullest.
"If winkles must be written unpon our brow, let them not be written upon our heart.
The spirit shall not grow old!"--James A Garfield
"Life is the unknown, do what you want now."
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!
A Poem "I'm not here" by an unknown author
Do not stand at my grave side and weep
just because I'm not here,
I'm not asleep
I've became the wind
I'm the white in the snow
I'm the sun shinning in the meadow
I'm the breeze in the autumn wind
I'm the stars in the night
Do not stand at my grave and weep
Just because I'm not here
I didn't disappear....
by Myra Brooks Welch
Thought it scarcely worth his while
To waste much time on the old violin,
But held it up with a smile.
"What am I bidden, good folks," he cried,
"Who will start bidding for me?
A dollar, a dollar" --then, "Two!" "Only two?
Two dollars, and who'll make it three?
Three dollars, twice;
"Going for three --" But no,
From the room, far back, a gray-haired man
Came forward and picked up the bow;
Then wiping the dust from the old violin,
And tightening the loose strings.
He played a melody pure and sweet
As sweet as a caroling angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said what am I bidden for the old violin?
And he held it up with the bow.
A thousand dollars, and who'll make it two?
Two thousand! And who'll make it three?
Three thousand, once; three thousand twice;
And going, and gone!" said he.
The people cheered, but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand
What changed its worth?" Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the master's hand.
And many a man with life out of tune,
And battered and scattered with sin,
Is auctioned off cheap to the thoughtless crowd,
Much like the old violin.
A "mess of pottage," a glass of wine;
A game -- and he travels on.
He's "going" once, and "going" twice,
He's "going" and "almost gone."
But the Master comes and the foolish crowd
Never quite understands
The worth of a soul and the change that's wrought
By the touch of the Master's hand.
Poem: " The Touch of the Master's Hand "
Authored By: Myra Brooks Welch
