Nature -The Creator

is confined to neither earth or heaven.Nature has no mere mortal or heavenly image, is neither male or female mother or father. Nature exists, as a part of in every one, every thing  on earth, in any hell, even if man made, and in every heaven everywhere. If you want laws; or a system which works; you must follow those that Nature wrote. The one commandment =

Respect.

The World is Still all Right I say; But Tis us Must Ensure it Stays so.

       Be honest, kindly, simple, true;

      Seek good in all, scorn but pretence;

      Whatever sorrow come to you,

      Believe in Life’s Beneficence!

The World’s all right; serene I sit,

And cease to puzzle over it.

There’s much that’s mighty strange, no doubt;

But Nature-the Creator- knows what it’s all about;

And in a million years or so

We’ll know more than to-day we know.

Old Evolution’s under way —

      What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

Could things be other than they are?

All’s in its place, from mote to star.

The thistledown that flits and flies

Could drift no hair-breadth otherwise.

What is, must be; with rhythmic laws

All Nature chimes, Effect and Cause.

The sand-grain and the sun obey —

      What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

Just try to get the Cosmic touch,

The sense that “you” don’t matter much.

A million stars are in the sky;

A million planets plunge and die;

A million million men are sped;

A million million wait ahead.

Each plays his part and has his day —

      What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

Just try to get the Chemic view:

A million million lives made “you”,.

In lives a million you will be

Immortal down Eternity;

Immortal on this earth to range,

With never death, but ever change.

You always were, and will be aye —

      What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

Be glad! And do not blindly grope

For Truth that lies beyond our scope:

A sober plot informeth all

Of Life’s uproarious carnival.

Your day is such a little one,

A gnat that lives from sun to sun;

Yet gnat and you have parts to play —

      What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

And though it’s written from the start,

Just act your best your little part.

Just be as happy as you can,

And serve your kind, and die — a man.

Just live the good that in you lies,

And seek no guerdon of the skies;

Just make your Heaven here, to-day —

      What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

Remember! in Creation’s swing

The Race and not the man’s the thing.

There’s battle, murder, sudden death,

And pestilence, with poisoned breath.

Yet quick forgotten are such woes;

On, on the stream of Being flows.

Truth, Beauty, Love uphold their sway —

      What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

The World’s all right; serene I sit,

And joy that I am part of it;

And put my trust in Nature’s plan,

And try to aid her all I can;

Content to pass, if in my place

I’ve served the uplift of the Race.

Truth! Beauty! Love! O Radiant Day —

      What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

So, Light up your pipe again, old chum, and sit awhile with me;

I've got to watch the bannock bake -- how restful is the air!

You'd little think that we were somewhere north of Sixty-three,

Though where I don't exactly know, and don't precisely care.

The man-size mountains palisade us round on every side;

The river is a-flop with fish, and ripples silver-clear;

The midnight sunshine brims yon cleft -- we think it's the Divide;

We'll get there in a month, maybe, or maybe in a year.

It doesn't matter, does it, pal? We're of that breed of men

With whom the world of wine and cards and women disagree;

Your trouble was a roofless game of poker now and then,

And "raising up my elbow", that's what got away with me.

We're merely "Undesirables", artistic more or less;

My horny hands are Chopin-wise; you quote your Browning well;

And yet we're fooling round for gold in this damned wilderness:

The joke is, if we found it, we would both go straight to hell.

Well, maybe we won't find it -- and at least we've got the "life".

We're both as brown as berries, and could wrestle with a bear:

(That bannock's raising nicely, pal; just jab it with your knife.)

Fine specimens of manhood they would reckon us out there.

It's the tracking and the packing and the poling in the sun;

It's the sleeping in the open, it's the rugged, unfaked food;

It's the snow-shoe and the paddle, and the campfire and the gun,

And when I think of what I was, I know that it is good.

This is my dream of Whitehorse

When fifty years have sped,

As after the Rogers' Banquet

I lay asleep in my bed.

I tottered along the sidewalk

That was made of real cement;

A skyscraper loomed above me,

Where once I remembered a tent.

I heard the roar of a trolley,

And I stumbled out of the way;

I dodged a few automobiles,

And I felt I was getting quite gay.

I thought I'd cross the Yukon,

Over the big steel bridge;

I heard the roar of the stamp mills

Up on the western ridge.

Crushing the quartz from bullion,

And borne on the evening breeze

I sniffed the fumes of the smelter

And the sulphur made me sneeze.

So I thought I'd go to Ear Lake Park

Where nature was fresh and fair;

('Twas donated by J.P.Whitney,

The multi-millionaire.)

Out past the smiling suburbs,

The villas with gardens a flower,

The factories down by the rapids

Run by the water power.

I took a car to the Canyon

And transferred up to the Park

And I sat on a bench by the fountain

Feeling as old as the Ark.

I sighed for the ancient landmarks,

The men that I used to know,

Till I stumbled against a statue,

And spelled out the name - Bob Lowe.

A little chap who saw me

Said with evident pride:

"That is a bust of my grandpa:

It's twenty years since he died.

And if you think I'm fooling,

Ask that boy and you'll see -

He's little Billy Grainger, my playmate,

And that's little Barney McGee."

Then I turned once more to the city,

With its streets like canyons a roar;

And the lights of Taylor & Drury's

Colossal department store:

The eighteen storey steel palace

Where once stood the White Pass Hotel,

The silent rush of its elevators

The clamour of bell upon bell.

And over there at the depot

The hurry, the crush and the din,

The flyer just starting for Dawson,

The bullion express coming in.

The business blocks all a bustle,

The theatres all alight,

The Home of Indigent Sourdoughs

Endowed by Armstrong and White.

And everywhere were strangers,

And I thought in the midst of these

Of Old Bill Clark in his homespun,

And debonair Mr.Breze:

And Fish, and Doc and the Deacon,

And the solo bunch at the club -

Now grown to a stately mansion

That would make the old place look dub.

It was all so real, so lifelike,

I awoke like a man in a fog,

So I shed a few tears in the darkness,

And groped for the hair of the dog.

This was my dream of Whitehorse

When fifty years had sped,

 What ho! the World’s all right, I say.

As I lay asleep here in my bed.

Memories of Alcohol~~Author Unknown.

I have observed that there are several websites FALSELY claiming ownership of this article; but, of course, since the original author is UNKNOWN and the silhouette PUBLIC DOMAIN; such claims are fraudulent, and completely illegitimate.

I drank for self-confidence and lost it all. I drank for strength and grew weaker. I drank to make conversation easier and slurred my speech. I drank for happiness and became unhappy. I drank for joy and became miserable. I drank to appear “cool” and became “Uncool”. I drank for sociability and became argumentative. I drank for sophistication and became obnoxious. I drank for friendship and made only enemies. I drank for relaxation and got the “shakes”. I drank for sleep and woke up tired. I DRANK TO FEEL HEAVENLY; ENDED IN HELL. ~ Al (Alex-Alexander) D Girvan.

There Will be Peace on This Earth for you and me, Dear Nature I Pray

Oh well, I'm tired and so weary but I must show strong

Till dear Nature comes and calls, calls me away, oh yes

Well the morning's so bright and the lamp is the light

And the night, night is as black as the sea, oh yes

There will be peace in the valley, politics gone to stay

There will be peace in the valley, to my creator, I do pray 

There'll be no sadness, no sorrow, no trouble, trouble can’t you see.

There will be peace in the valley for you and me

Well the bear will be gentle and the wolf will be tame

And the lion shall lay down by the lamb, oh yes

And the terrorist, irrationals of the world should be led by a mere child

That we may be changed, changed from the savages that we are, oh yes

There will be peace in the valley for all someday

There will be peace on this earth for you and me, dear Nature I pray 

There'll be no sadness, no sorrow and no trouble, trouble you will see

When all politiccal issues are gone from the world, of you and me.© Al (Alex-Alexander) D. Girvan. All rights reserved.

Found, Written on the Wall, in Mother Teresa’s Home for Children, in Calcutta:

People are often unreasonable,

Irrational and self-centred

Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse

you of selfish, ulterior motives.

Be kind anyway.

If you are successful, you will

win some unfaithful friends

and some genuine enemies.

Succeed anyway.

If you are honest and sincere

people may deceive you.

Be honest and sincere anyway.

What you spend years creating,

others would destroy overnight.

Create anyway.

If you find serenity and happiness,

some may be jealous.

Be happy anyway.

The good you do today

will often be forgotten.

Do good anyway.

Give the best you have

And, it will never be enough.

Give your best anyway.

In the final analysis,

It is between you and God.

It was never between you and them;

Anyway.

The Little Dancers-Laurence Binyon (1869-1943)

Lonely, save for a few faint stars, the sky
Dreams; and lonely, below the little street
Into its gloom retires, secluded and shy.
Scarcely the dumb roar enters this soft retreat;
And all is dark, save where come flooding rays
From a tavern window; there, to the brisk measure
Of an organ that down in an alley merily plays,
Two children, all alone and no one by,
Holding their tattered frocks, through an airy maze
Of motion, lightly threaded with nimble feet,
Dance sedately: face to face they gaze,
Their eyes shining, grave with a perfect pleasure.

Dirge-Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803-1849)

If thou wilt ease thine heart

Of love and all its smart,

Then sleep, dear sleep;

And not sorrow

Hang any tear on your eyelashes; 

Lie still and deep,

Sad soul, until the sea-wave washes

The rim o' the sun to-morrow,In eastern sky.

But wilt thou cure thine heart

Of lave and all its smart,

Then die dear die

"Tis deeper, sweeter,

Than on a rose bank to lie dreaming

With folded eye;

And then alone, amid the beaming

Of love's stars, thou'lt meet her

In eastern sky.

Song-Thomas Lovell Bedoes (1803-1849)

How many times do I love thee dear?

Tell me how many thoughts there be

In the atmosphere

Of a new-fall'n year,

Whose white and sable hours appear

The latest flake of Eternity:

So many times do I love thee dear.

How many times do I love again

Tell me how many beads there are

In a silver chain

Of evening rain,

Unravelled from the tumbling main,

And threading the eye of a yellow star:

So many times do I love again.

A Voice From the Waters-Thomas Lovell Beddoes (1803-1849)

The swallow leaves her nest,

The soul my weary breast;

But therefore let the rain

On my grave

Fall pure; for why complain?

Since both will come again

O'er the wave.

The wind dead leaves and snow

Doth scurry to and fro

And, once, a day shall break

O'er the wave,

When a storm of ghosts shall shake

The dead, until they wake

In the grave.

Song From the Ship-Thomas Lovell Beddoes(1803-1849

To sea, to sea! The calm is o'er;

The wanton water leaps in sport,

 And rattles down the pebbly shore;

The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort,

And unseen mermaids pearly song

Comes bubbling up, and weeds among.

Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar:

To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er.

To sea! our wide-winged bark

Shall billowy cleave its sunny way,

And with its shadow, fleet and dark,

Break the caved Tritions' azure day,

Like mighty eagle soaring light

O'er antelopes on Alpine height.

The anchor heaves, the ship swings free,

The sails swell full. To sea to sea!

Ugly The Cat

Everyone in the apartment complex I lived in knew who Ugly was. Ugly was the resident tomcat. Ugly loved three things in this world: fighting, eating garbage, and, shall we say, love.

The combination of these things combined with a life spent outside had their effect on Ugly. To start with, he had only one eye and where the other should have been was a hole. He was also missing his ear on the same side, his left foot appeared to have been badly broken at one time, and had healed at an unnatural angle, making him look like he was always turning the corner.

Ugly would have been a dark gray tabby, striped type, except for the sores covering his head, neck, and even his shoulders. Every time someone saw Ugly there was the same reaction. “That’s one UGLY cat !”

All the children were warned not to touch him, the adults threw rocks at him, hosed him down, squirted him when he tried to come in their homes, or shut his paws in the door when he would not leave. Ugly always had the same reaction.

If you turned the hose on him, he would stand there, getting soaked until you gave up and quit. If you threw things at him, he would curl his lanky body around your feet in forgiveness.

Whenever he spied children, he would come running, meowing frantically and bump his head against their hands, begging for their love.

If you ever picked him up he would immediately begin suckling on your shirt, earrings, whatever he could find.

One day Ugly shared his love with the neighbor’s dogs. They did not respond kindly, and Ugly was badly mauled. I tried to rush to his aid. By the time I got to where he was laying, it was apparent Ugly’s sad life was almost at an end.

As I picked him up and tried to carry him home, I could hear him wheezing and gasping, and could feel him struggling. It must be hurting him terribly, I thought.

Then I felt a familiar tugging, sucking sensation on my ear. Ugly, in so much pain, suffering and obviously dying, was trying to suckle my ear. I pulled him closer to me, and he bumped the palm of my hand with his head, then he turned his one golden eye towards me, and I could hear the distinct sound of purring.

Even in the greatest pain, that ugly battled scarred cat was asking only for a little affection, perhaps some compassion. At that moment I thought Ugly was the most beautiful, loving creature I had ever seen. Never once did he try to bite or scratch me, try to get away from me, or struggle in any way. Ugly just looked up at me completely trusting in me to relieve his pain.

Ugly died in my arms before I could get inside, but I sat and held him for a long time afterwards, thinking about how one scarred, deformed little stray could so alter my opinion about what it means to have true pureness of spirit, to love so totally and truly.

Ugly taught me more about giving and compassion than a thousand books, lectures, or talk show specials ever could, and for that I will always be thankful. He had been scarred on the outside, but I was scarred on the inside, and it was time for me to move on and learn to love truly and deeply. To give my total to those I cared for.

Many people want to be richer, more successful, well liked, beautiful, but for me…I will always try to be Ugly.

Author Unknown