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GENIUS by Victor Hugo
     (DEDICATED TO CHATEAUBRIAND.)

     {Bk. IV. vi., July, 1822.}
         Woe unto him! the child of this sad earth,
           Who, in a troubled world, unjust and blind,
         Bears Geniusâ€"treasure of celestial birth,
           Within his solitary soul enshrined.
         Woe unto him! for Envy's pangs impure,
           Like the undying vultures', will be driven
         Into his noble heart, that must endure
     Pangs for each triumph; and, still unforgiven,
     Suffer Prometheus' doom, who ravished fire from Heaven.

         Still though his destiny on earth may be
           Grief and injustice; who would not endure
         With joyful calm, each proffered agony;
           Could he the prize of Genius thus ensure?
         What mortal feeling kindled in his soul
           That clear celestial flame, so pure and high,
         O'er which nor time nor death can have control,
           Would in inglorious pleasures basely fly
           From sufferings whose reward is Immortality?
         No! though the clamors of the envious crowd
           Pursue the son of Genius, he will rise

         From the dull clod, borne by an effort proud
           Beyond the reach of vulgar enmities.
         'Tis thus the eagle, with his pinions spread,
           Reposing o'er the tempest, from that height
         Sees the clouds reel and roll above our head,
     While he, rejoicing in his tranquil flight,
     More upward soars sublime in heaven's eternal light.

     MRS. TORRE HULME


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TO YE KINGS by Victor Hugo
     When the Christians were doomed to the lions of old
     By the priest and the praetor, combined to uphold
             An idolatrous cause,
     Forth they came while the vast Colosseum throughout
     Gathered thousands looked on, and they fell 'mid the shout
             Of "the People's" applause.

     On the eve of that day of their evenings the last!
     At the gates of their dungeon a gorgeous repast,
             Rich, unstinted, unpriced,
     That the doomed might (forsooth) gather strength ere they bled,
     With an ignorant pity the jailers would spread
             For the martyrs of Christ.

     Oh, 'twas strange for a pupil of Paul to recline
     On voluptuous couch, while Falernian wine
             Fill'd his cup to the brim!
     Dulcet music of Greece, Asiatic repose,
     Spicy fragrance of Araby, Italian rose,
             All united for him!

     Every luxury known through the earth's wide expanse,
     In profusion procured was put forth to enhance
             The repast that they gave;
     And no Sybarite, nursed in the lap of delight,
     Such a banquet ere tasted as welcomed that night
             The elect of the grave.

     And the lion, meantime, shook his ponderous chain,
     Loud and fierce howled the tiger, impatient to stain
             The bloodthirsty arena;
     Whilst the women of Rome, who applauded those deeds
     And who hailed the forthcoming enjoyment, must needs
             Shame the restless hyena.

     They who figured as guests on that ultimate eve,
     In their turn on the morrow were destined to give
             To the lions their food;
     For, behold, in the guise of a slave at that board,
     Where his victims enjoyed all that life can afford,
             Death administering stood.

     Such, O monarchs of earth! was your banquet of power,
     But the tocsin has burst on your festival hourâ€"
             'Tis your knell that it rings!
     To the popular tiger a prey is decreed,
     And the maw of Republican hunger will feed
             On a banquet of Kings!

     "FATHER PROUT" (FRANK MAHONY)

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KING LOUIS XVII by Victor Hugo
     ("En ce temps-là du ciel les portes.")

     {Bk. I. v., December, 1822.}
     The golden gates were opened wide that day,
     All through the unveiled heaven there seemed to play
       Out of the Holiest of Holy, light;
     And the elect beheld, crowd immortal,
       A young soul, led up by young angels bright,
     Stand in the starry portal.

     A fair child fleeing from the world's fierce hate,
     In his blue eye the shade of sorrow sate,
       His golden hair hung all dishevelled down,
     On wasted cheeks that told a mournful story,
       And angels twined him with the innocent's crown,
     The martyr's palm of glory.

     The virgin souls that to the Lamb are near,
     Called through the clouds with voices heavenly clear,
       God hath prepared a glory for thy brow,
     Rest in his arms, and all ye hosts that sing
     His praises ever on untired string,
       Chant, for a mortal comes among ye now;
     Do homageâ€""'Tis a king."

     And the pale shadow saith to God in heaven:
       "I am an orphan and no king at all;
     I was a weary prisoner yestereven,
       My father's murderers fed my soul with gall.
     Not me, O Lord, the regal name beseems.
       Last night I fell asleep in dungeon drear,
     But then I saw my mother in my dreams,
       Say, shall I find her here?"

     The angels said: "Thy Saviour bids thee come,
     Out of an impure world He calls thee home,
       From the mad earth, where horrid murder waves
         Over the broken cross her impure wings,
       And regicides go down among the graves,
         Scenting the blood of kings."

     He cries: "Then have I finished my long life?
     Are all its evils over, all its strife,
     And will no cruel jailer evermore
     Wake me to pain, this blissful vision o'er?
     Is it no dream that nothing else remains
       Of all my torments but this answered cry,
     And have I had, O God, amid my chains,
       The happiness to die?

     "For none can tell what cause I had to pine,
     What pangs, what miseries, each day were mine;
     And when I wept there was no mother near
     To soothe my cries, and smile away my tear.
     Poor victim of a punishment unending,
       Torn like a sapling from its mother earth,
     So young, I could not tell what crime impending
       Had stained me from my birth.

     "Yet far off in dim memory it seems,
     With all its horror mingled happy dreams,
     Strange cries of glory rocked my sleeping head,
     And a glad people watched beside my bed.
     One day into mysterious darkness thrown,
       I saw the promise of my future close;
     I was a little child, left all alone,
       Alas! and I had foes.

     "They cast me living in a dreary tomb,
     Never mine eyes saw sunlight pierce the gloom,
     Only ye, brother angels, used to sweep
     Down from your heaven, and visit me in sleep.
     'Neath blood-red hands my young life withered there.
       Dear Lord, the bad are miserable all,
     Be not Thou deaf, like them, unto my prayer,
       It is for them I call."

     The angels sang: "See heaven's high arch unfold,
       Come, we will crown thee with the stars above,
     Will give thee cherub-wings of blue and gold,
       And thou shalt learn our ministry of love,
     Shalt rock the cradle where some mother's tears
       Are dropping o'er her restless little one,
     Or, with thy luminous breath, in distant spheres,
       Shalt kindle some cold sun."

     Ceased the full choir, all heaven was hushed to hear,
     Bowed the fair face, still wet with many a tear,
     In depths of space, the rolling worlds were stayed,
     Whilst the Eternal in the infinite said:

     "O king, I kept thee far from human state,
       Who hadst a dungeon only for thy throne,
     O son, rejoice, and bless thy bitter fate,
       The slavery of kings thou hast not known,
     What if thy wasted arms are bleeding yet,
       And wounded with the fetter's cruel trace,
     No earthly diadem has ever set
       A stain upon thy face.

     "Child, life and hope were with thee at thy birth,
     But life soon bowed thy tender form to earth,
       And hope forsook thee in thy hour of need.
     Come, for thy Saviour had His pains divine;
     Come, for His brow was crowned with thorns like thine,
       His sceptre was a reed."

     Dublin University Magazine.

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ENVY AND AVARICE by Victor Hugo
     ("L'Avarice et l'Envie.")

     {LE CONSERVATEUR LITÉRAIRE, 1820.}
     Envy and Avarice, one summer day,
         Sauntering abroad
         In quest of the abode
     Of some poor wretch or fool who lived that wayâ€"
     Youâ€"or myself, perhapsâ€"I cannot sayâ€"
     Along the road, scarce heeding where it tended,
     Their way in sullen, sulky silence wended;

     For, though twin sisters, these two charming creatures,
     Rivals in hideousness of form and features,
     Wasted no love between them as they went.
         Pale Avarice,
         With gloating eyes,
     And back and shoulders almost double bent,
     Was hugging close that fatal box
         For which she's ever on the watch
         Some glance to catch
     Suspiciously directed to its locks;
     And Envy, too, no doubt with silent winking
         At her green, greedy orbs, no single minute
     Withdrawn from it, was hard a-thinking
         Of all the shining dollars in it.

     The only words that Avarice could utter,
     Her constant doom, in a low, frightened mutter,
         "There's not enough, enough, yet in my store!"
     While Envy, as she scanned the glittering sight,
     Groaned as she gnashed her yellow teeth with spite,
         "She's more than me, more, still forever more!"

     Thus, each in her own fashion, as they wandered,
     Upon the coffer's precious contents pondered,
         When suddenly, to their surprise,
         The God Desire stood before their eyes.
     Desire, that courteous deity who grants
     All wishes, prayers, and wants;
     Said he to the two sisters: "Beauteous ladies,
     As I'm a gentleman, my task and trade is
         To be the slave of your behestâ€"
     Choose therefore at your own sweet will and pleasure,
     Honors or treasure!
         Or in one word, whatever you'd like best.
     But, let us understand each otherâ€"she
     Who speaks the first, her prayer shall certainly
         Receiveâ€"the other, the same boon redoubled!"

     Imagine how our amiable pair,
     At this proposal, all so frank and fair,
         Were mutually troubled!
     Misers and enviers, of our human race,
     Say, what would you have done in such a case?
     Each of the sisters murmured, sad and low
         "What boots it, oh, Desire, to me to have
         Crowns, treasures, all the goods that heart can crave,
     Or power divine bestow,
     Since still another must have always more?"

     So each, lest she should speak before
     The other, hesitating slow and long
     Till the god lost all patience, held her tongue.
         He was enraged, in such a way,
         To be kept waiting there all day,
     With two such beauties in the public road;
         Scarce able to be civil even,
         He wished them bothâ€"well, not in heaven.

     Envy at last the silence broke,
         And smiling, with malignant sneer,
         Upon her sister dear,
           Who stood in expectation by,
     Ever implacable and cruel, spoke
           "I would be blinded of one eye!"

     American Keepsake


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Isaiah 55:8

MOSES ON THE NILE by Victor Hugo

     ("Mes soeurs, l'onde est plus fraiche.")

     {TO THE FLORAL GAMES, Toulouse, Feb. 10, 1820.}
     "Sisters! the wave is freshest in the ray
       Of the young morning; the reapers are asleep;
     The river bank is lonely: come away!
       The early murmurs of old Memphis creep
     Faint on my ear; and here unseen we stray,â€"
       Deep in the covert of the grove withdrawn,
       Save by the dewy eye-glance of the dawn.

     "Within my father's palace, fair to see,
       Shine all the Arts, but oh! this river side,
     Pranked with gay flowers, is dearer far to me
       Than gold and porphyry vases bright and wide;
     How glad in heaven the song-bird carols free!
       Sweeter these zephyrs float than all the showers
       Of costly odors in our royal bowers.

     "The sky is pure, the sparkling stream is clear:
       Unloose your zones, my maidens! and fling down
     To float awhile upon these bushes near
       Your blue transparent robes: take off my crown,
     And take away my jealous veil; for here
       To-day we shall be joyous while we lave
       Our limbs amid the murmur of the wave.

     "Hasten; but through the fleecy mists of morn,
       What do I see? Look ye along the stream!
     Nay, timid maidensâ€"we must not return!
       Coursing along the current, it would seem
     An ancient palm-tree to the deep sea borne,
       That from the distant wilderness proceeds,
       Downwards, to view our wondrous Pyramids.

     "But stay! if I may surely trust mine eye,â€"
       It is the bark of Hermes, or the shell
     Of Iris, wafted gently to the sighs
       Of the light breeze along the rippling swell;
     But no: it is a skiff where sweetly lies
       An infant slumbering, and his peaceful rest
       Looks as if pillowed on his mother's breast.

     "He sleepsâ€"oh, see! his little floating bed
       Swims on the mighty river's fickle flow,
     A white dove's nest; and there at hazard led
      By the faint winds, and wandering to and fro,
     The cot comes down; beneath his quiet head
       The gulfs are moving, and each threatening wave
       Appears to rock the child upon a grave.

     "He wakesâ€"ah, maids of Memphis! haste, oh, haste!
       He cries! alas!â€"What mother could confide
     Her offspring to the wild and watery waste?
       He stretches out his arms, the rippling tide
     Murmurs around him, where all rudely placed,
       He rests but with a few frail reeds beneath,
       Between such helpless innocence and death.

     "Oh! take him up! Perchance he is of those
       Dark sons of Israel whom my sire proscribes;
     Ah! cruel was the mandate that arose
       Against most guiltless of the stranger tribes!
     Poor child! my heart is yearning for his woes,
       I would I were his mother; but I'll give
       If not his birth, at least the claim to live."

     Thus Iphis spoke; the royal hope and pride
       Of a great monarch; while her damsels nigh,
     Wandered along the Nile's meandering side;
       And these diminished beauties, standing by
     The trembling mother; watching with eyes wide
       Their graceful mistress, admired her as stood,
       More lovely than the genius of the flood!

     The waters broken by her delicate feet
       Receive the eager wader, as alone
     By gentlest pity led, she strives to meet
       The wakened babe; and, see, the prize is won!
     She holds the weeping burden with a sweet
       And virgin glow of pride upon her brow,
       That knew no flush save modesty's till now.

     Opening with cautious hands the reedy couch,
       She brought the rescued infant slowly out
     Beyond the humid sands; at her approach
       Her curious maidens hurried round about
     To kiss the new-born brow with gentlest touch;
       Greeting the child with smiles, and bending nigh
       Their faces o'er his large, astonished eye!

     Haste thou who, from afar, in doubt and fear,
       Dost watch, with straining eyes, the fated boyâ€"
     The loved of heaven! come like a stranger near,
       And clasp young Moses with maternal joy;
     Nor fear the speechless transport and the tear
       Will e'er betray thy fond and hidden claim,
       For Iphis knows not yet a mother's name!

     With a glad heart, and a triumphal face,
       The princess to the haughty Pharaoh led
     The humble infant of a hated race,
       Bathed with the bitter tears a parent shed;
     While loudly pealing round the holy place
       Of Heaven's white Throne, the voice of angel choirs
       Intoned the theme of their undying lyres!

     "No longer mourn thy pilgrimage belowâ€"
       O Jacob! let thy tears no longer swell
     The torrent of the Egyptian river: Lo!
       Soon on the Jordan's banks thy tents shall dwell;
     And Goshen shall behold thy people go
       Despite the power of Egypt's law and brand,
       From their sad thrall to Canaan's promised land.

     "The King of Plagues, the Chosen of Sinai,
       Is he that, o'er the rushing waters driven,
     A vigorous hand hath rescued for the sky;
       Ye whose proud hearts disown the ways of heaven!
     Attend, be humble! for its power is nigh
       Israel! a cradle shall redeem thy worthâ€"
       A Cradle yet shall save the widespread earth!"

     Dublin University Magazine, 1839

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MEMOIR OF VICTOR MARIE HUGO.
Towards the close of the First French Revolution, Joseph Leopold Sigisbert Hugo, son of a joiner at Nancy, and an officer risen from the ranks in the Republican army, married Sophie Trébuchet, daughter of a Nantes fitter-out of privateers, a Vendean royalist and devotee.

Victor Marie Hugo, their second son, was born on the 26th of February, 1802, at Besançon, France. Though a weakling, he was carried, with his boy-brothers, in the train of their father through the south of France, in pursuit of Fra Diavolo, the Italian brigand, and finally into Spain.

Colonel Hugo had become General, and there, besides being governor over three provinces, was Lord High Steward at King Joseph's court, where his eldest son Abel was installed as page. The other two were educated for similar posts among hostile young Spaniards under stern priestly tutors in the Nobles' College at Madrid, a palace become a monastery. Upon the English advance to free Spain of the invaders, the general and Abel remained at bay, whilst the mother and children hastened to Paris.

Again, in a house once a convent, Victor and his brother Eugène were taught by priests until, by the accident of their roof sheltering a comrade of their father's, a change of tutor was afforded them. This was General Lahorie, a man of superior education, main supporter of Malet in his daring plot to take the government into the Republicans' hands during the absence of Napoleon I. in Russia. Lahorie read old French and Latin with Victor till the police scented him out and led him to execution, October, 1812.

School claimed the young Hugos after this tragical episode, where they were oddities among the humdrum tradesmen's sons. Victor, thoughtful and taciturn, rhymed profusely in tragedies, "printing" in his books, "Châteaubriand or nothing!" and engaging his more animated brother to flourish the Cid's sword and roar the tyrant's speeches.

In 1814, both suffered a sympathetic anxiety as their father held out at Thionville against the Allies, finally repulsing them by a sortie. This was pure loyalty to the fallen Bonaparte, for Hugo had lost his all in Spain, his very savings having been sunk in real estate, through King Joseph's insistence on his adherents investing to prove they had "come to stay."

The Bourbons enthroned anew, General Hugo received, less for his neutrality than thanks to his wife's piety and loyalty, confirmation of his title and rank, and, moreover, a fieldmarshalship. Abel was accepted as a page, too, but there was no money awarded the ex-Bonapartistâ€"money being what the Eaglet at Reichstadt most required for an attempt at his father's throneâ€"and the poor officer was left in seclusion to write consolingly about his campaigns and "Defences of Fortified Towns."

Decidedly the pen had superseded the sword, for Victor and Eugène were scribbling away in ephemeral political sheets as apprenticeship to founding a periodical of their own.

Victor's poetry became remarkable in La Muse Française and Le Conservateur Littéraire, the odes being permeated with Legitimist and anti-revolutionary sentiments delightful to the taste of Madam Hugo, member as she was of the courtly Order of the Royal Lily.

In 1817, the French Academy honorably mentioned Victor's "Odes on the Advantages of Study," with a misgiving that some elder hand was masked under the line ascribing "scant fifteen years" to the author. At the Toulouse Floral Games he won prizes two years successively. His critical judgment was sound as well, for he had divined the powers of Lamartine.

His "Odes," collected in a volume, gave his ever-active mother her opportunity at Court. Louis XVIII. granted the boy-poet a pension of 1,500 francs.

It was the windfall for which the youth had been waiting to enable him to gratify his first love. In his childhood, his father and one M. Foucher, head of a War Office Department, had jokingly betrothed a son of the one to a daughter of the other. Abel had loftier views than alliance with a civil servant's child; Eugène was in love elsewhere; but Victor had fallen enamored with Adèle Foucher. It is true, when poverty beclouded the Hugos, the Fouchers had shrunk into their mantle of dignity, and the girl had been strictly forbidden to correspond with her child-sweetheart.

He, finding letters barred out, wrote a love story ("Hans of Iceland") in two weeks, where were recited his hopes, fears, and constancy, and this book she could read.

It pleased the public no less, and its sale, together with that of the "Odes" and a West Indian romance, "Buck Jargal," together with a royal pension, emboldened the poet to renew his love-suit. To refuse the recipient of court funds was not possible to a public functionary. M. Foucher consented to the betrothal in the summer of 1821.

So encloistered had Mdlle. Adèle been, her reading "Hans" the exceptional intrusion, that she only learnt on meeting her affianced that he was mourning his mother. In October, 1822, they were wed, the bride nineteen, the bridegroom but one year the elder. The dinner was marred by the sinister disaster of Eugène Hugo going mad. (He died in an asylum five years later.) The author terminated his wedding year with the "Ode to Louis XVIII.," read to a society after the President of the Academy had introduced him as "the most promising of our young lyrists."

In spite of new poems revealing a Napoleonic bias, Victor was invited to see Charles X. consecrated at Rheims, 29th of May, 1825, and was entered on the roll of the Legion of Honor repaying the favors with the verses expected. But though a son was born to him he was not restored to Conservatism; with his mother's death all that had vanished. His tragedy of "Cromwell" broke lances upon Royalists and upholders of the still reigning style of tragedy. The second collection of "Odes" preluding it, showed the spirit of the son of Napoleon's general, rather than of the Bourbonist field-marshal. On the occasion, too, of the Duke of Tarento being announced at the Austrian Ambassador's ball, February, 1827, as plain "Marshal Macdonald," Victor became the mouthpiece of indignant Bonapartists in his "Ode to the Napoleon Column" in the Place Vendôme.

His "Orientales," though written in a Parisian suburb by one who had not travelled, appealed for Grecian liberty, and depicted sultans and pashas as tyrants, many a line being deemed applicable to personages nearer the Seine than Stamboul.

"Cromwell" was not actable, and "Amy Robsart," in collaboration with his brother-in-law, Foucher, miserably failed, notwithstanding a finale "superior to Scott's 'Kenilworth.'" In one twelvemonth, there was this failure to record, the death of his father from apoplexy at his eldest son's marriage, and the birth of a second son to Victor towards the close.

Still imprudent, the young father again irritated the court with satire in "Marion Delorme" and "Hernani," two plays immediately suppressed by the Censure, all the more active as the Revolution of July, 1830, was surely seething up to the edge of the crater.

(At this juncture, the poet Châteaubriand, fading star to our rising sun, yielded up to him formally "his place at the poets' table.")

In the summer of 1831, a civil ceremony was performed over the insurgents killed in the previous year, and Hugo was constituted poet-laureate of the Revolution by having his hymn sung in the Pantheon over the biers.

Under Louis Philippe, "Marion Delorme" could be played, but livelier attention was turned to "Nôtre Dame de Paris," the historical romance in which Hugo vied with Sir Walter. It was to have been followed by others, but the publisher unfortunately secured a contract to monopolize all the new novelist's prose fictions for a term of years, and the author revenged himself by publishing poems and plays alone. Hence "Nôtre Dame" long stood unique: it was translated in all languages, and plays and operas were founded on it. Heine professed to see in the prominence of the hunchback a personal appeal of the author, who was slightly deformed by one shoulder being a trifle higher than the other; this malicious suggestion reposed also on the fact that the quasi-hero of "Le Roi s'Amuse" (1832, a tragedy suppressed after one representation, for its reflections on royalty), was also a contorted piece of humanity. This play was followed by "Lucrezia Borgia," "Marie Tudor," and "Angelo," written in a singular poetic prose. Spite of bald translations, their action was sufficiently dramatic to make them successes, and even still enduring on our stage. They have all been arranged as operas, whilst Hugo himself, to oblige the father of Louise Bertin, a magazine publisher of note, wrote "Esmeralda" for her music in 1835.

Thus, at 1837, when he was promoted to an officership in the Legion of Honor, it was acknowledged his due as a laborious worker in all fields of literature, however contestable the merits and tendencies of his essays.

In 1839, the Academy, having rejected him several times, elected him among the Forty Immortals. In the previous year had been successfully acted "Ruy Blas," for which play he had gone to Spanish sources; with and after the then imperative Rhine tour, came an unendurable "trilogy," the "Burgraves," played one long, long night in 1843. A real tragedy was to mark that year: his daughter Léopoldine being drowned in the Seine with her husband, who would not save himself when he found that her death-grasp on the sinking boat was not to be loosed.

For distraction, Hugo plunged into politics. A peer in 1845, he sat between Marshal Soult and Pontécoulant, the regicide-judge of Louis XVI. His maiden speech bore upon artistic copyright; but he rapidly became a power in much graver matters.

As fate would have it, his speech on the Bonapartes induced King Louis Philippe to allow Prince Louis Napoleon Bonaparte to return, and, there being no gratitude in politics, the emancipated outlaw rose as a rival candidate for the Presidency, for which Hugo had nominated himself in his newspaper the Evènement. The story of the Coup d'État is well known; for the Republican's side, read Hugo's own "History of a Crime." Hugo, proscribed, betook himself to Brussels, London, and the Channel Islands, waiting to "return with right when the usurper should be expelled."

Meanwhile, he satirized the Third Napoleon and his congeners with ceaseless shafts, the principal being the famous "Napoleon the Little," based on the analogical reasoning that as the earth has moons, the lion the jackal, man himself his simian double, a minor Napoleon was inevitable as a standard of estimation, the grain by which a pyramid is measured. These flings were collected in "Les Châtiments," a volume preceded by "Les Contemplations" (mostly written in the '40's), and followed by "Les Chansons des Rues et des Bois."

The baffled publisher's close-time having expired, or, at least, his heirs being satisfied, three novels appeared, long heralded: in 1862, "Les Misérables" (Ye Wretched), wherein the author figures as Marius and his father as the Bonapartist officer: in 1866, "Les Travailleurs de la Mer" (Toilers of the Sea), its scene among the Channel Islands; and, in 1868, "L'Homme Qui Rit" (The Man who Grins), unfortunately laid in a fanciful England evolved from recondite reading through foreign spectacles. Whilst writing the final chapters, Hugo's wife died; and, as he had refused the Amnesty, he could only escort her remains to the Belgian frontier, August, 1868. All this while, in his Paris daily newspaper, Le Rappei (adorned with cuts of a Revolutionary drummer beating "to arms!"), he and his sons and son-in-law's family were reiterating blows at the throne. When it came down in 1870, and the Republic was proclaimed, Hugo hastened to Paris.

His poems, written during the War and Siege, collected under the title of "L'Année Terrible" (The Terrible Year, 1870-71), betray the long-tried exile, "almost alone in his gloom," after the death of his son Charles and his child. Fleeing to Brussels after the Commune, he nevertheless was so aggressive in sheltering and aiding its fugitives, that he was banished the kingdom, lest there should be a renewal of an assault on his house by the mob, supposed by his adherents to be, not "the honest Belgians," but the refugee Bonapartists and Royalists, who had not cared to fight for France in France endangered. Resting in Luxemburg, he prepared "L'Année Terrible" for the press, and thence returned to Paris, vainly to plead with President Thiers for the captured Communists' lives, and vainly, too, proposing himself for election to the new House.

In 1872, his novel of "'93" pleased the general public here, mainly by the adventures of three charming little children during the prevalence of an internecine war. These phases of a bounteously paternal mood reappeared in "L'Art d'être Grandpère," published in 1877, when he had become a life-senator.

"Hernani" was in the regular "stock" of the Théâtre Français, "Rigoletto" (Le Roi s'Amuse) always at the Italian opera-house, while the same subject, under the title of "The Fool's Revenge," held, as it still holds, a high position on the Anglo-American stage. Finally, the poetic romance of "Torquemada," for over thirty years promised, came forth in 1882, to prove that the wizard-wand had not lost its cunning.

After dolor, fêtes were come: on one birthday they crown his bust in the chief theatre; on another, all notable Paris parades under his window, where he sits with his grandchildren at his knee, in the shadow of the Triumphal Arch of Napoleon's Star. It is given to few men thus to see their own apotheosis.

Whilst he was dying, in May, 1885, Paris was but the first mourner for all France; and the magnificent funeral pageant which conducted the pauper's coffin, antithetically enshrining the remains considered worthy of the highest possible reverence and honors, from the Champs Elysées to the Pantheon, was the more memorable from all that was foremost in French art and letters having marched in the train, and laid a leaf or flower in the tomb of the protégé of Châteaubriand, the brother-in-arms of Dumas, the inspirer of Mars, Dorval, Le-maître, Rachel, and Bernhardt, and, above all, the Nemesis of the Third Empire.

Source: Gutenberg Book Project

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Covid is Prelude to New World Order and Anti-Christ
Reposted from FB

For info:
This is worth reading gawa ng isang kakilala kong active christian in politics and sectoral , umiikot sa ibat ibang part ng bansa...

In virology, influenza A virus subtype H1N1 is the subtype of Influenza,  a virus that was the most common cause of human influenza in 2009, and is associated with the 1918 flu pandemic. It is an orthomyxovirus that contains the glycoproteins haemagglutinin and neuraminidase. Wikipedia

According to virologists and doctors, covid is just like flu because they are caused by a similar type of  corona virus.

But not everyone was  required to be vaccinated with flu vaccine, di po ba?

Bakit sa covid, sumobra ang takot ng tao at gustong irequire lahat ng taong pabakunahan? If you watched the video I sent you, you will know the answer.

In the USA, some employers require their employees to be vaccinated yearly for "flu prevention". I remember my classmate who migrated to the USA telling me his story two years ago. He said every year he was vaccinated, and the irony of it is that he gets sick with flu every year. When he finally decided to stop the routine, he said he never had flu since then. What does that mean? Tama yung sinasabi sa video.

Yung covid ay parang flu lang talaga yun pero birainwash tayo ng mga globalists na nakakatakot yun para macontrol nila ang buong mundo at iyan nga ang nangyayari ngayon. Ang motibo nila ay pabagsakin ang economiya. Then impose  the New World Order---One world  government, one world religion, one world currency.

They have began with the "New Normal" which is abnormal.

Sa loob lamang ng mahigit isang buwan ay naganap ang gusto nilang mangyari:

Lockdown, ECQ-GCQ-ECQ-GCQ, social distancing, wearing of masks, etc.

Dahil hinihintay daw, within 18 months, ilalabas nila yung vaccine na lahat ay irerequire na magpaturok. Yung vaccine na yun ay quantum dots.

Bakit 18 months? Kasi 18=6+6+6 or 666, the mark of the beast. Lahat ng matuturukan ay bibigyan ng ID na ang tawag ay ID2020 at isa pa, eventually, lalagyan ng microchips ang mga mababakunahan which can contain info of the person and will also be used for all transactions na gagawin niya. Yung social distancing, sinasanay na ang tao para mas madaling mamonitor pag layu-layo through 5G technology. I might be wrong, pero ano pa ang maiisip natin?

Yung mask, kunwari for our protection pero in reality, it will suffocate the lungs. Just imagine hindi ka makalanghap ng sariwang hangin. It makes us more susceptible to viruses. The globalists are really killing the people slowly.

Yung social distancing, pababagsakin ng todo ang ekonomiya dahil hindi makapag-full force work ang mga tao.

Yung sobrang lockdown  ay pababagsakin din ang health natin, as explained by the doctors in the video.

Yung mga globalists ay kasama sila Bill Gates, Rockefeller Foundation, big Pharma, Dr Fauci, WHO, mga bayarang scientists, at yung iba pang super yaman sa mundo. Kasama rin si Pope, at ang China--the sleeping giant who is now slowly rising--the Dragon in the Bible. Malapit na ang tribulation period kung mananagumpay ang plano ng mga ito. Lahat ay nakalatag na. That is, if we allow these globalists to push through with their agenda, and if Jesus Christ will hasten His coming again.

Sa ating mananampalataya, walang problema dahil kung malapit na ang tribulation, mas malapit na ang Rapture. Kaya tama ang ginagawa nating soulwinning through celfone.

Pero kailangan din nating ipaalam sa mga tao ang balak ng mga globalists na ito. We have human rights na inalis sa loob lamang ng mahigit isang buwan.

Sana nga matauhan na ang mga mayor pataas hanggang kay President Duterte gaya ng nangyari kay President Trump at yung nagsalita sa video sa Italy na nagsabing hindi naman talaga 25,000 ang namatay sa covid sa Italy gaya ng nakatala sa covid count at ibinalita sa media. Yan ang power ng mga bayarang media. 

According to present studies about covid patients, 99% of those who died ay may ibang sakit.

Yun namang natest na may covid ay 88-90% sa kanila ay nakaka-recover at 10-12% lang ang namamatay. Pag ikinumpara sa population ng buong mundo, napaka minimal ng death, 0.00 something lang in percentage. In other words, hindi talaga siya pandemic but plan demic.

Saka bakit puro covid cases  na lang ang nirereport na cause of death. Kasi doctors are being pressured to include covid as the cause of death. Malaki pala ang incentive ng hospitals pag covid ang ikinamatay. Pera-pera lang talaga.

Sana makatulong ang mga may katungkulan sa pagsisiwalat ng katotohanan. Hwag nating pahintulututan na manatili tayong sunud-sunuran sa isang systema na ang Diablo ang nananagumpay. Iparating natin sa pamahalaan ang katotohanan yamang may access tayo sa media.

While it is true that we must obey government rules, we also have the responsibility to tell the people and government officials about the truth.

Let the people know the truth. The truth will set us free. Let us regain our liberty as a family, as a church and as a nation.

We need more prayers and action. May the Lord help us all. Amen.
==========
Mahaba, pero worth reading po. Pang masa ang presentation. PAKIPASA-PAGKABASA. Salamat po. God bless.


Pinost ko po yan pero denedelete ni fb ang mga info na sinishare ko

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The End by Wilfred Owen
     After the blast of lightning from the east,
     The flourish of loud clouds, the Chariot throne,
     After the drums of time have rolled and ceased
     And from the bronze west long retreat is blown,

     Shall Life renew these bodies?  Of a truth
     All death will he annul, all tears assuage?
     Or fill these void veins full again with youth
     And wash with an immortal water age?

     When I do ask white Age, he saith not so,â€"
     "My head hangs weighed with snow."
     And when I hearken to the Earth she saith
     My fiery heart sinks aching.  It is death.
     Mine ancient scars shall not be glorified
     Nor my titanic tears the seas be dried."

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Disabled by Wilfred Owen

     He sat in a wheeled chair, waiting for dark,
     And shivered in his ghastly suit of grey,
     Legless, sewn short at elbow.  Through the park
     Voices of boys rang saddening like a hymn,
     Voices of play and pleasure after day,
     Till gathering sleep had mothered them from him.

     About this time Town used to swing so gay
     When glow-lamps budded in the light-blue trees
     And girls glanced lovelier as the air grew dim,
    â€"In the old times, before he threw away his knees.
     Now he will never feel again how slim
     Girls' waists are, or how warm their subtle hands,
     All of them touch him like some queer disease.

     There was an artist silly for his face,
     For it was younger than his youth, last year.
     Now he is old; his back will never brace;
     He's lost his colour very far from here,
     Poured it down shell-holes till the veins ran dry,
     And half his lifetime lapsed in the hot race,
     And leap of purple spurted from his thigh.
     One time he liked a bloodsmear down his leg,
     After the matches carried shoulder-high.
     It was after football, when he'd drunk a peg,
     He thought he'd better join.  He wonders why . . .
     Someone had said he'd look a god in kilts.

     That's why; and maybe, too, to please his Meg,
     Aye, that was it, to please the giddy jilts,
     He asked to join.  He didn't have to beg;
     Smiling they wrote his lie; aged nineteen years.
     Germans he scarcely thought of; and no fears
     Of Fear came yet.  He thought of jewelled hilts
     For daggers in plaid socks; of smart salutes;
     And care of arms; and leave; and pay arrears;
     Esprit de corps; and hints for young recruits.
     And soon, he was drafted out with drums and cheers.

     Some cheered him home, but not as crowds cheer Goal.
     Only a solemn man who brought him fruits
     Thanked him; and then inquired about his soul.
     Now, he will spend a few sick years in Institutes,
     And do what things the rules consider wise,
     And take whatever pity they may dole.
     To-night he noticed how the women's eyes
     Passed from him to the strong men that were whole.
     How cold and late it is!  Why don't they come

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Wild with all Regrets by Wilfred Owen
         (Another version of "A Terre".)

           To Siegfried Sassoon
     My arms have mutinied against meâ€"brutes!
     My fingers fidget like ten idle brats,
     My back's been stiff for hours, damned hours.
     Death never gives his squad a Stand-at-ease.
     I can't read.  There:  it's no use.  Take your book.
     A short life and a merry one, my buck!
     We said we'd hate to grow dead old.  But now,
     Not to live old seems awful:  not to renew
     My boyhood with my boys, and teach 'em hitting,
     Shooting and hunting,â€"all the arts of hurting!
    â€"Well, that's what I learnt.  That, and making money.
     Your fifty years in store seem none too many;
     But I've five minutes.  God!  For just two years
     To help myself to this good air of yours!
     One Spring!  Is one too hard to spare?  Too long?
     Spring air would find its own way to my lung,
     And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.

     Yes, there's the orderly.  He'll change the sheets
     When I'm lugged out, oh, couldn't I do that?
     Here in this coffin of a bed, I've thought
     I'd like to kneel and sweep his floors for ever,â€"
     And ask no nights off when the bustle's over,
     For I'd enjoy the dirt; who's prejudiced
     Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust,â€"
     Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn?
     Dear dust,â€"in rooms, on roads, on faces' tan!
     I'd love to be a sweep's boy, black as Town;
     Yes, or a muckman.  Must I be his load?
     A flea would do.  If one chap wasn't bloody,
     Or went stone-cold, I'd find another body.

     Which I shan't manage now.  Unless it's yours.
     I shall stay in you, friend, for some few hours.
     You'll feel my heavy spirit chill your chest,
     And climb your throat on sobs, until it's chased
     On sighs, and wiped from off your lips by wind.

     I think on your rich breathing, brother, I'll be weaned
     To do without what blood remained me from my wound.
     5th December 1917.

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A Terre by Wilfred Owen

         (Being the philosophy of many Soldiers.)
     Sit on the bed; I'm blind, and three parts shell,
     Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
     Both arms have mutinied against meâ€"brutes.
     My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.

     I tried to peg out soldierlyâ€"no use!
     One dies of war like any old disease.
     This bandage feels like pennies on my eyes.
     I have my medals?â€"Discs to make eyes close.
     My glorious ribbons?â€"Ripped from my own back
     In scarlet shreds.  (That's for your poetry book.)

     A short life and a merry one, my brick!
     We used to say we'd hate to live dead old,â€"
     Yet now . . . I'd willingly be puffy, bald,
     And patriotic.  Buffers catch from boys
     At least the jokes hurled at them.  I suppose
     Little I'd ever teach a son, but hitting,
     Shooting, war, hunting, all the arts of hurting.
     Well, that's what I learnt,â€"that, and making money.
     Your fifty years ahead seem none too many?
     Tell me how long I've got?  God!  For one year
     To help myself to nothing more than air!
     One Spring!  Is one too good to spare, too long?
     Spring wind would work its own way to my lung,
     And grow me legs as quick as lilac-shoots.
     My servant's lamed, but listen how he shouts!
     When I'm lugged out, he'll still be good for that.
     Here in this mummy-case, you know, I've thought
     How well I might have swept his floors for ever,
     I'd ask no night off when the bustle's over,
     Enjoying so the dirt.  Who's prejudiced
     Against a grimed hand when his own's quite dust,
     Less live than specks that in the sun-shafts turn,
     Less warm than dust that mixes with arms' tan?
     I'd love to be a sweep, now, black as Town,
     Yes, or a muckman.  Must I be his load?

     O Life, Life, let me breathe,â€"a dug-out rat!
     Not worse than ours the existences rats leadâ€"
     Nosing along at night down some safe vat,
     They find a shell-proof home before they rot.
     Dead men may envy living mites in cheese,
     Or good germs even.  Microbes have their joys,
     And subdivide, and never come to death,
     Certainly flowers have the easiest time on earth.
     "I shall be one with nature, herb, and stone."
     Shelley would tell me.  Shelley would be stunned;
     The dullest Tommy hugs that fancy now.
     "Pushing up daisies," is their creed, you know.
     To grain, then, go my fat, to buds my sap,
     For all the usefulness there is in soap.
     D'you think the Boche will ever stew man-soup?
     Some day, no doubt, if . . .
                                   Friend, be very sure
     I shall be better off with plants that share
     More peaceably the meadow and the shower.
     Soft rains will touch me,â€"as they could touch once,
     And nothing but the sun shall make me ware.
     Your guns may crash around me.  I'll not hear;
     Or, if I wince, I shall not know I wince.
     Don't take my soul's poor comfort for your jest.
     Soldiers may grow a soul when turned to fronds,
     But here the thing's best left at home with friends.

     My soul's a little grief, grappling your chest,
     To climb your throat on sobs; easily chased
     On other sighs and wiped by fresher winds.

     Carry my crying spirit till it's weaned
     To do without what blood remained these wounds.

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Conscious by Wilfred Owen

     His fingers wake, and flutter up the bed.
     His eyes come open with a pull of will,
     Helped by the yellow may-flowers by his head.
     A blind-cord drawls across the window-sill . . .
     How smooth the floor of the ward is! what a rug!
     And who's that talking, somewhere out of sight?
     Why are they laughing?  What's inside that jug?
     "Nurse!  Doctor!"  "Yes; all right, all right."

     But sudden dusk bewilders all the airâ€"
     There seems no time to want a drink of water.
     Nurse looks so far away.  And everywhere
     Music and roses burnt through crimson slaughter.
     Cold; cold; he's cold; and yet so hot:
     And there's no light to see the voices byâ€"
     No time to dream, and askâ€"he knows not what.



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Smile, Smile, Smile by Wilfred Owen

     Head to limp head, the sunk-eyed wounded scanned
     Yesterday's Mail; the casualties (typed small)
     And (large) Vast Booty from our Latest Haul.
     Also, they read of Cheap Homes, not yet planned;
     For, said the paper, "When this war is done
     The men's first instinct will be making homes.
     Meanwhile their foremost need is aerodromes,
     It being certain war has just begun.
     Peace would do wrong to our undying dead,â€"
     The sons we offered might regret they died
     If we got nothing lasting in their stead.
     We must be solidly indemnified.
     Though all be worthy Victory which all bought,
     We rulers sitting in this ancient spot
     Would wrong our very selves if we forgot
     The greatest glory will be theirs who fought,
     Who kept this nation in integrity."
     Nation?â€"The half-limbed readers did not chafe
     But smiled at one another curiously
     Like secret men who know their secret safe.
     This is the thing they know and never speak,
     That England one by one had fled to France
     (Not many elsewhere now save under France).
     Pictures of these broad smiles appear each week,
     And people in whose voice real feeling rings
     Say:  How they smile!  They're happy now, poor things.
     23rd September 1918.



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Futility by Wilfred Owen

     Move him into the sunâ€"
     Gently its touch awoke him once,
     At home, whispering of fields unsown.
     Always it woke him, even in France,
     Until this morning and this snow.
     If anything might rouse him now
     The kind old sun will know.

     Think how it wakes the seedsâ€"
     Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
     Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
     Full-nerved,â€"still warm,â€"too hard to stir?
     Was it for this the clay grew tall?
    â€"O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
     To break earth's sleep at all?




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S. I. W. By Wilfred Owen

         "I will to the King,
         And offer him consolation in his trouble,
         For that man there has set his teeth to die,
         And being one that hates obedience,
         Discipline, and orderliness of life,
         I cannot mourn him."
                                  W. B. Yeats.
     Patting goodbye, doubtless they told the lad
     He'd always show the Hun a brave man's face;
     Father would sooner him dead than in disgrace,â€"
     Was proud to see him going, aye, and glad.
     Perhaps his Mother whimpered how she'd fret
     Until he got a nice, safe wound to nurse.
     Sisters would wish girls too could shoot, charge, curse, . . .
     Brothersâ€"would send his favourite cigarette,
     Each week, month after month, they wrote the same,
     Thinking him sheltered in some Y.M. Hut,
     Where once an hour a bullet missed its aim
     And misses teased the hunger of his brain.
     His eyes grew old with wincing, and his hand
     Reckless with ague.  Courage leaked, as sand
     From the best sandbags after years of rain.
     But never leave, wound, fever, trench-foot, shock,
     Untrapped the wretch.  And death seemed still withheld
     For torture of lying machinally shelled,
     At the pleasure of this world's Powers who'd run amok.

     He'd seen men shoot their hands, on night patrol,
     Their people never knew.  Yet they were vile.
     "Death sooner than dishonour, that's the style!"
     So Father said.

                      One dawn, our wire patrol
     Carried him.  This time, Death had not missed.
     We could do nothing, but wipe his bleeding cough.
     Could it be accident?â€"Rifles go off . . .
     Not sniped?  No.  (Later they found the English ball.)

     It was the reasoned crisis of his soul.
     Against the fires that would not burn him whole
     But kept him for death's perjury and scoff
     And life's half-promising, and both their riling.

     With him they buried the muzzle his teeth had kissed,
     And truthfully wrote the Mother "Tim died smiling."

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The Chances by Wilfred Owen

     I mind as 'ow the night afore that show
     Us five got talking,â€"we was in the know,
     "Over the top to-morrer; boys, we're for it,
     First wave we are, first ruddy wave; that's tore it."
     "Ah well," says Jimmy,â€"an' 'e's seen some scrappin'â€"
     "There ain't more nor five things as can 'appen;
     Ye get knocked out; else woundedâ€"bad or cushy;
     Scuppered; or nowt except yer feeling mushy."

     One of us got the knock-out, blown to chops.
     T'other was hurt, like, losin' both 'is props.
     An' one, to use the word of 'ypocrites,
     'Ad the misfortoon to be took by Fritz.
     Now me, I wasn't scratched, praise God Almighty
     (Though next time please I'll thank 'im for a blighty),
     But poor young Jim, 'e's livin' an' 'e's not;
     'E reckoned 'e'd five chances, an' 'e's 'ad;
     'E's wounded, killed, and pris'ner, all the lotâ€"
     The ruddy lot all rolled in one.  Jim's mad.



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Spring Offensive by Wilfred Owen

     Halted against the shade of a last hill,
     They fed, and, lying easy, were at ease
     And, finding comfortable chests and knees
     Carelessly slept.  But many there stood still
     To face the stark, blank sky beyond the ridge,
     Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.

     Marvelling they stood, and watched the long grass swirled
     By the May breeze, murmurous with wasp and midge,
     For though the summer oozed into their veins
     Like the injected drug for their bones' pains,
     Sharp on their souls hung the imminent line of grass,
     Fearfully flashed the sky's mysterious glass.

     Hour after hour they ponder the warm fieldâ€"
     And the far valley behind, where the buttercups
     Had blessed with gold their slow boots coming up,
     Where even the little brambles would not yield,
     But clutched and clung to them like sorrowing hands;
     They breathe like trees unstirred.

     Till like a cold gust thrilled the little word
     At which each body and its soul begird
     And tighten them for battle.  No alarms
     Of bugles, no high flags, no clamorous hasteâ€"
     Only a lift and flare of eyes that faced
     The sun, like a friend with whom their love is done.
     O larger shone that smile against the sun,â€"
     Mightier than his whose bounty these have spurned.

     So, soon they topped the hill, and raced together
     Over an open stretch of herb and heather
     Exposed.  And instantly the whole sky burned
     With fury against them; and soft sudden cups
     Opened in thousands for their blood; and the green slopes
     Chasmed and steepened sheer to infinite space.

     Of them who running on that last high place
     Leapt to swift unseen bullets, or went up
     On the hot blast and fury of hell's upsurge,
     Or plunged and fell away past this world's verge,
     Some say God caught them even before they fell.

     But what say such as from existence' brink
     Ventured but drave too swift to sink.
     The few who rushed in the body to enter hell,
     And there out-fiending all its fiends and flames
     With superhuman inhumanities,
     Long-famous glories, immemorial shamesâ€"
     And crawling slowly back, have by degrees
     Regained cool peaceful air in wonderâ€"
     Why speak they not of comrades that went under?

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Exposure by Wilfred Owen
         I

     Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us . . .
     Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . .
     Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . .
     Worried by silence, sentries whisper, curious, nervous,
             But nothing happens.

     Watching, we hear the mad gusts tugging on the wire.
     Like twitching agonies of men among its brambles.
     Northward incessantly, the flickering gunnery rumbles,
     Far off, like a dull rumour of some other war.
             What are we doing here?

     The poignant misery of dawn begins to grow . . .
     We only know war lasts, rain soaks, and clouds sag stormy.
     Dawn massing in the east her melancholy army
     Attacks once more in ranks on shivering ranks of gray,
             But nothing happens.

     Sudden successive flights of bullets streak the silence.
     Less deadly than the air that shudders black with snow,
     With sidelong flowing flakes that flock, pause and renew,
     We watch them wandering up and down the wind's nonchalance,
             But nothing happens.
         II

     Pale flakes with lingering stealth come feeling for our facesâ€"
     We cringe in holes, back on forgotten dreams, and stare, snow-dazed,
     Deep into grassier ditches.  So we drowse, sun-dozed,
     Littered with blossoms trickling where the blackbird fusses.
             Is it that we are dying?

     Slowly our ghosts drag home:  glimpsing the sunk fires glozed
     With crusted dark-red jewels; crickets jingle there;
     For hours the innocent mice rejoice:  the house is theirs;
     Shutters and doors all closed:  on us the doors are closedâ€"
             We turn back to our dying.

     Since we believe not otherwise can kind fires burn;
     Nor ever suns smile true on child, or field, or fruit.
     For God's invincible spring our love is made afraid;
     Therefore, not loath, we lie out here; therefore were born,
             For love of God seems dying.

     To-night, His frost will fasten on this mud and us,
     Shrivelling many hands and puckering foreheads crisp.
     The burying-party, picks and shovels in their shaking grasp,
     Pause over half-known faces.  All their eyes are ice,
             But nothing happens.

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The Dead-Beat by Wilfred Owen

     He dropped,â€"more sullenly than wearily,
     Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat,
     And none of us could kick him to his feet;
     Just blinked at my revolver, blearily;
    â€"Didn't appear to know a war was on,
     Or see the blasted trench at which he stared.
     "I'll do 'em in," he whined, "If this hand's spared,
     I'll murder them, I will."

                                 A low voice said,
     "It's Blighty, p'raps, he sees; his pluck's all gone,
     Dreaming of all the valiant, that AREN'T dead:
     Bold uncles, smiling ministerially;
     Maybe his brave young wife, getting her fun
     In some new home, improved materially.
     It's not these stiffs have crazed him; nor the Hun."

     We sent him down at last, out of the way.
     Unwounded;â€"stout lad, too, before that strafe.
     Malingering?  Stretcher-bearers winked, "Not half!"

     Next day I heard the Doc.'s well-whiskied laugh:
     "That scum you sent last night soon died.  Hooray!"

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The Sentry by Wilfred Owen

     We'd found an old Boche dug-out, and he knew,
     And gave us hell, for shell on frantic shell
     Hammered on top, but never quite burst through.
     Rain, guttering down in waterfalls of slime
     Kept slush waist high, that rising hour by hour,
     Choked up the steps too thick with clay to climb.
     What murk of air remained stank old, and sour
     With fumes of whizz-bangs, and the smell of men
     Who'd lived there years, and left their curse in the den,
     If not their corpses. . . .
                                  There we herded from the blast
     Of whizz-bangs, but one found our door at last.
     Buffeting eyes and breath, snuffing the candles.
     And thud! flump! thud! down the steep steps came thumping
     And splashing in the flood, deluging muckâ€"
     The sentry's body; then his rifle, handles
     Of old Boche bombs, and mud in ruck on ruck.
     We dredged him up, for killed, until he whined
     "O sir, my eyesâ€"I'm blindâ€"I'm blind, I'm blind!"
     Coaxing, I held a flame against his lids
     And said if he could see the least blurred light
     He was not blind; in time he'd get all right.
     "I can't," he sobbed.  Eyeballs, huge-bulged like squids
     Watch my dreams still; but I forgot him there
     In posting next for duty, and sending a scout
     To beg a stretcher somewhere, and floundering about
     To other posts under the shrieking air.

     Those other wretches, how they bled and spewed,
     And one who would have drowned himself for good,â€"
     I try not to remember these things now.
     Let dread hark back for one word only:  how
     Half-listening to that sentry's moans and jumps,
     And the wild chattering of his broken teeth,
     Renewed most horribly whenever crumps
     Pummelled the roof and slogged the air beneathâ€"
     Through the dense din, I say, we heard him shout
     "I see your lights!"  But ours had long died out.

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Dulce et Decorum est by Wilfred Owen

     Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
     Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
     Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
     And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
     Men marched asleep.  Many had lost their boots,
     But limped on, blood-shod.  All went lame, all blind;
     Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
     Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

     Gas!  GAS!  Quick, boys!â€"An ecstasy of fumbling
     Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
     But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
     And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.â€"
     Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
     As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

     In all my dreams before my helpless sight
     He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

     If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
     Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
     And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
     His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
     If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
     Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
     Bitter as the cud
     Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,â€"
     My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
     To children ardent for some desperate glory,
     The old Lie:  Dulce et decorum est
     Pro patria mori.

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Insensibility by Wilfred Owen
         I

     Happy are men who yet before they are killed
     Can let their veins run cold.
     Whom no compassion fleers
     Or makes their feet
     Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
     The front line withers,
     But they are troops who fade, not flowers
     For poets' tearful fooling:
     Men, gaps for filling
     Losses who might have fought
     Longer; but no one bothers.
         II

     And some cease feeling
     Even themselves or for themselves.
     Dullness best solves
     The tease and doubt of shelling,
     And Chance's strange arithmetic
     Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
     They keep no check on Armies' decimation.
         III

     Happy are these who lose imagination:
     They have enough to carry with ammunition.
     Their spirit drags no pack.
     Their old wounds save with cold can not more ache.
     Having seen all things red,
     Their eyes are rid
     Of the hurt of the colour of blood for ever.
     And terror's first constriction over,
     Their hearts remain small drawn.
     Their senses in some scorching cautery of battle
     Now long since ironed,
     Can laugh among the dying, unconcerned.
         IV

     Happy the soldier home, with not a notion
     How somewhere, every dawn, some men attack,
     And many sighs are drained.
     Happy the lad whose mind was never trained:
     His days are worth forgetting more than not.
     He sings along the march
     Which we march taciturn, because of dusk,
     The long, forlorn, relentless trend
     From larger day to huger night.
         V

     We wise, who with a thought besmirch
     Blood over all our soul,
     How should we see our task
     But through his blunt and lashless eyes?
     Alive, he is not vital overmuch;
     Dying, not mortal overmuch;
     Nor sad, nor proud,
     Nor curious at all.
     He cannot tell
     Old men's placidity from his.
         VI

     But cursed are dullards whom no cannon stuns,
     That they should be as stones.
     Wretched are they, and mean
     With paucity that never was simplicity.
     By choice they made themselves immune
     To pity and whatever mourns in man
     Before the last sea and the hapless stars;
     Whatever mourns when many leave these shores;
     Whatever shares
     The eternal reciprocity of tears.

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The Send-off by Wilfred Owen

     Down the close, darkening lanes they sang their way
     To the siding-shed,
     And lined the train with faces grimly gay.

     Their breasts were stuck all white with wreath and spray
     As men's are, dead.

     Dull porters watched them, and a casual tramp
     Stood staring hard,
     Sorry to miss them from the upland camp.
     Then, unmoved, signals nodded, and a lamp
     Winked to the guard.

     So secretly, like wrongs hushed-up, they went.
     They were not ours:
     We never heard to which front these were sent.

     Nor there if they yet mock what women meant
     Who gave them flowers.

     Shall they return to beatings of great bells
     In wild trainloads?
     A few, a few, too few for drums and yells,
     May creep back, silent, to still village wells
     Up half-known roads.

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Anthem for Doomed Youth by Wilfred Owen

     What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
        Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
        Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
     Can patter out their hasty orisons.
     No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
     Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,â€"
     The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
     And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

     What candles may be held to speed them all?
        Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
     Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
        The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
     Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
     And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.



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Arms and the Boy by Wilfred Owen

     Let the boy try along this bayonet-blade
     How cold steel is, and keen with hunger of blood;
     Blue with all malice, like a madman's flash;
     And thinly drawn with famishing for flesh.

     Lend him to stroke these blind, blunt bullet-heads
     Which long to muzzle in the hearts of lads.
     Or give him cartridges of fine zinc teeth,
     Sharp with the sharpness of grief and death.

     For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.
     There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;
     And God will grow no talons at his heels,
     Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.



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Parable of the Old Men and the Young by Wilfred Owen

     So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
     And took the fire with him, and a knife.
     And as they sojourned both of them together,
     Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
     Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
     But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
     Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
     And builded parapets and trenches there,
     And stretch\ed forth the knife to slay his son.
     When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
     Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
     Neither do anything to him.  Behold,
     A ram caught in a thicket by its horns;
     Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.
     But the old man would not so, but slew his son. . . .



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Mental Cases by Wilfred Owen
     Who are these?  Why sit they here in twilight?
     Wherefore rock they, purgatorial shadows,
     Drooping tongues from jaws that slob their relish,
     Baring teeth that leer like skulls' tongues wicked?
     Stroke on stroke of pain,â€"but what slow panic,
     Gouged these chasms round their fretted sockets?
     Ever from their hair and through their hand palms
     Misery swelters.  Surely we have perished
     Sleeping, and walk hell; but who these hellish?

    â€"These are men whose minds the Dead have ravished.
     Memory fingers in their hair of murders,
     Multitudinous murders they once witnessed.
     Wading sloughs of flesh these helpless wander,
     Treading blood from lungs that had loved laughter.
     Always they must see these things and hear them,
     Batter of guns and shatter of flying muscles,
     Carnage incomparable and human squander
     Rucked too thick for these men's extrication.

     Therefore still their eyeballs shrink tormented
     Back into their brains, because on their sense
     Sunlight seems a bloodsmear; night comes blood-black;
     Dawn breaks open like a wound that bleeds afresh
    â€"Thus their heads wear this hilarious, hideous,
     Awful falseness of set-smiling corpses.
    â€"Thus their hands are plucking at each other;
     Picking at the rope-knouts of their scourging;
     Snatching after us who smote them, brother,
     Pawing us who dealt them war and madness.

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The Show by Wilfred Owen
     My soul looked down from a vague height with Death,
     As unremembering how I rose or why,
     And saw a sad land, weak with sweats of dearth,
     Gray, cratered like the moon with hollow woe,
     And fitted with great pocks and scabs of plaques.

     Across its beard, that horror of harsh wire,
     There moved thin caterpillars, slowly uncoiled.
     It seemed they pushed themselves to be as plugs
     Of ditches, where they writhed and shrivelled, killed.

     By them had slimy paths been trailed and scraped
     Round myriad warts that might be little hills.

     From gloom's last dregs these long-strung creatures crept,
     And vanished out of dawn down hidden holes.

     (And smell came up from those foul openings
     As out of mouths, or deep wounds deepening.)

     On dithering feet upgathered, more and more,
     Brown strings towards strings of gray, with bristling spines,
     All migrants from green fields, intent on mire.

     Those that were gray, of more abundant spawns,
     Ramped on the rest and ate them and were eaten.

     I saw their bitten backs curve, loop, and straighten,
     I watched those agonies curl, lift, and flatten.

     Whereat, in terror what that sight might mean,
     I reeled and shivered earthward like a feather.

     And Death fell with me, like a deepening moan.
     And He, picking a manner of worm, which half had hid
     Its bruises in the earth, but crawled no further,
     Showed me its feet, the feet of many men,
     And the fresh-severed head of it, my head.

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Apologia pro Poemate Meo by Wilfred Owen
     I, too, saw God through mudâ€"
         The mud that cracked on cheeks when wretches smiled.
         War brought more glory to their eyes than blood,
         And gave their laughs more glee than shakes a child.

     Merry it was to laugh thereâ€"
         Where death becomes absurd and life absurder.
         For power was on us as we slashed bones bare
         Not to feel sickness or remorse of murder.

     I, too, have dropped off fearâ€"
         Behind the barrage, dead as my platoon,
         And sailed my spirit surging, light and clear
         Past the entanglement where hopes lay strewn;

     And witnessed exultationâ€"
         Faces that used to curse me, scowl for scowl,
         Shine and lift up with passion of oblation,
         Seraphic for an hour; though they were foul.

     I have made fellowshipsâ€"
         Untold of happy lovers in old song.
         For love is not the binding of fair lips
         With the soft silk of eyes that look and long,

     By Joy, whose ribbon slips,â€"
         But wound with war's hard wire whose stakes are strong;
         Bound with the bandage of the arm that drips;
         Knit in the welding of the rifle-thong.

     I have perceived much beauty
         In the hoarse oaths that kept our courage straight;
         Heard music in the silentness of duty;
         Found peace where shell-storms spouted reddest spate.

     Nevertheless, except you share
         With them in hell the sorrowful dark of hell,
         Whose world is but the trembling of a flare,
         And heaven but as the highway for a shell,

     You shall not hear their mirth:
         You shall not come to think them well content
         By any jest of mine.  These men are worth
         Your tears:  You are not worth their merriment.
     November 1917.

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Greater Love by Wilfred Owen
     Red lips are not so red
        As the stained stones kissed by the English dead.
     Kindness of wooed and wooer
     Seems shame to their love pure.
     O Love, your eyes lose lure
        When I behold eyes blinded in my stead!

     Your slender attitude
        Trembles not exquisite like limbs knife-skewed,
     Rolling and rolling there
     Where God seems not to care;
     Till the fierce Love they bear
        Cramps them in death's extreme decrepitude.

     Your voice sings not so soft,â€"
        Though even as wind murmuring through raftered loft,â€"
     Your dear voice is not dear,
     Gentle, and evening clear,
     As theirs whom none now hear
        Now earth has stopped their piteous mouths that coughed.

     Heart, you were never hot,
        Nor large, nor full like hearts made great with shot;
     And though your hand be pale,
     Paler are all which trail
     Your cross through flame and hail:
        Weep, you may weep, for you may touch them not.

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Strange Meeting by Wilfred Owen
     It seemed that out of the battle I escaped
     Down some profound dull tunnel, long since scooped
     Through granites which Titanic wars had groined.
     Yet also there encumbered sleepers groaned,
     Too fast in thought or death to be bestirred.
     Then, as I probed them, one sprang up, and stared
     With piteous recognition in fixed eyes,
     Lifting distressful hands as if to bless.
     And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall;
     With a thousand fears that vision's face was grained;
     Yet no blood reached there from the upper ground,
     And no guns thumped, or down the flues made moan.
     "Strange, friend," I said, "Here is no cause to mourn."
     "None," said the other, "Save the undone years,
     The hopelessness.  Whatever hope is yours,
     Was my life also; I went hunting wild
     After the wildest beauty in the world,
     Which lies not calm in eyes, or braided hair,
     But mocks the steady running of the hour,
     And if it grieves, grieves richlier than here.
     For by my glee might many men have laughed,
     And of my weeping something has been left,
     Which must die now.  I mean the truth untold,
     The pity of war, the pity war distilled.
     Now men will go content with what we spoiled.
     Or, discontent, boil bloody, and be spilled.
     They will be swift with swiftness of the tigress,
     None will break ranks, though nations trek from progress.
     Courage was mine, and I had mystery;
     Wisdom was mine, and I had mastery;
     To miss the march of this retreating world
     Into vain citadels that are not walled.
     Then, when much blood had clogged their chariot-wheels
     I would go up and wash them from sweet wells,
     Even with truths that lie too deep for taint.
     I would have poured my spirit without stint
     But not through wounds; not on the cess of war.
     Foreheads of men have bled where no wounds were.
     I am the enemy you killed, my friend.
     I knew you in this dark; for so you frowned
     Yesterday through me as you jabbed and killed.
     I parried; but my hands were loath and cold.
     Let us sleep now . . ."
         (This poem was found among the author's papers.
         It ends on this strange note.)
       *Another Version*

     Earth's wheels run oiled with blood.  Forget we that.
     Let us lie down and dig ourselves in thought.
     Beauty is yours and you have mastery,
     Wisdom is mine, and I have mystery.
     We two will stay behind and keep our troth.
     Let us forego men's minds that are brute's natures,
     Let us not sup the blood which some say nurtures,
     Be we not swift with swiftness of the tigress.
     Let us break ranks from those who trek from progress.
     Miss we the march of this retreating world
     Into old citadels that are not walled.
     Let us lie out and hold the open truth.
     Then when their blood hath clogged the chariot wheels
     We will go up and wash them from deep wells.
     What though we sink from men as pitchers falling
     Many shall raise us up to be their filling
     Even from wells we sunk too deep for war
     And filled by brows that bled where no wounds were.
         *Alternative lineâ€"*

     Even as One who bled where no wounds were.



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Who knows all your mistakes

Just share. You don't need to say anything

City of Lights

Meteorite in Cuba

Two Doves

He Makes All Things New

Kung maoy nadayon

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Send your name to Mars

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National highway in Guindulman, Bohol

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AirAsia will be mounting a one-way flight from Bangkok to Manila on August 3, 2020 and round trip flight between Manila and Kuala Lumpur on August 4, 2020.

To book your flight, visit www.airasia.com.

All guests are advised to check the government restrictions and regulations imposed by Thailand, Malaysia, and the Philippines here.

Should you wish to move your flight, just avail the Free Unlimited Date Change via My Bookings. New travel dates can be moved up to December 31, 2020

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FB News
NAG-AWAY  TUNGOD SA IRING SUNGKABAN

Davao De Oro- nahimong gubot ug saba ang pagsugat sa pagsubang sa adlaw sa sa’yong kabuntagon human mauy mitilaok ang panaglalis sa magsilingan nga nag-away tungod sa Iring sungkaban

Ang insidente nahitabo sa barangay sakop sa lungsod ning probinsiya.

Sa gihimong pakipaghinabi ning tigsuwat kang alyas ‘ May-may” 16 , iyang gisaysay nga tungod sa iring sungkaban naglalis ug nag-away ang iyang iyaan  ug uyuan, hinungdan nga milakaw sila sa mao niyang iyaan aron  magpawala sa kasuko.

Gibutyag ni May-May nga sa’yo sa buntag niadtong Martes gisulong sa iyang iyaan ang ilang silingan nga mauy gipasanginlan nga tag-iya sa iring nga kanunay manungkab sa  ilang kusina.

Matud pa nga miulbo ang kasuko sa iyaan ni May-May dihang sa magmata mauy misugat nga nawala ug nayabo  ang gibutangan sa nilutong paksiw nga isda nga gitakuban sa kusina.

Matud pa , nga misulong ang iyaan ni May-may sa balay sa silingan og sila naglalis apan, ang mao niyang iyaan gi-apas og gibadlong sa bana nga gikasuko niini og sila na hinuon ang naglalis og misamot  ang lalis dihang sa atubangan sa maong  silingang babaye giingnan sa asawa ang bana nga dunay relasyon sa mao nilang silingan.

Nasuko ang lalaki ug gibunlot pauli ang asawa. 

Sa kalagot sa asawa sa pagdapig-dapig sa bana sa silingan , milakaw kini kauban si May-may  og mibilin pag pung sa bana sa pagbiya …… “ pag-uban mo diha sa imong didang “

Gikaguol sa maong dalagita ang nahitabo ug naghinaut nga maulian na sa kasuko ang mao niyang iyaan og mouli na sa ilang balay sanglit, nabalaka siya nga sa tantong loud-luod makasugat pa hinuon sila og tawo nga positibo sa Coronavirus Disease 2019 ( Covid-19) og sila mataptan sa kagaw tungod lang sa iring sungkaban nga mauy hinungdan sa away.  Dexter T. Visitacion

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Reposted from Ariel Faraon of Facebook
I was born and raised in Mlang, Cotabato. Regardless of the weather, our dinner time was at 6:00PM and bed time was 8:00PM.

Eating out at a #restaurant was a huge deal, rarity actually, that nearly never happened.

There was no such thing as fast food on every other day, and having a bottle of soft drinks or a large ice-cream from the local shop was a real treat. Boy oh boy! Pass your final exams and then you may get a new pair of shoes or set of clothes!

You took your #school clothes off as soon as you got home and put on your ‘home’ clothes. There was no taking or picking you up in the car, you either boarded the school transport(tricycle) or rode on public transport! Or simply walked back. You got home did your chores and your homework before dinner.

We didn’t have #cabletv #wifi or #Netflix, most of us did not have TV. The neighbors would let us watch by their balcony.

We played Cops & Robbers, Hide & Seek, Marbles, jack stones, and any other game we could come up with..... At home, we stuck to chess, scrabbles, ludo, snakes and ladders.

Staying shut in the house was a PUNISHMENT and the only thing we knew about "bored" was --- "You better find something to do before I find it for you!"

We played music via magnetic tapes or transistor radio.

We went to the local shop for grocery and candy used to be a few cents or at the most one cent.

We ate what Mom made for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Even snacks were homemade. Bottled water was a luxury and unheard of. We drank tap water. At home it was boiled and cooled . While playing outside straight from the tap.

We weren't AFRAID OF ANYTHING. We played until dark... sunset was our alarm.

We hung around with real friends not virtual. We rode our bicycles or walked to meet our friends at their houses. Friends houses were extension to our home.

If someone had a fight, that's what it was and we were friends again a week later, if not SOONER.

We watched our MOUTHS around our elders because ALL of our aunts, uncles, grandpas, grandmas, AND our parents' best friends were all extensions of our PARENTS and you didn't want them telling your parents if you misbehaved! Or they would give you something to cry about.

We respected the Police, Firemen, Ambulance workers, Teachers, Doctors and Nurses.

We never answered back..... ever!!

We got detention at school for not doing homework, being late to class or being naughty. Our teachers spanked us when we deserved, and our parents did not complain about it.

Those were the good days. So many kids today will never know how it feels to be a kid the way we used to be . I loved my childhood and all the friends I hung around with. Good Times

Copy and paste if you are from the same #generation.

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This is my boarding pass to Mars

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My name will be embedded in Mars Planet.
This is my boarding pass.

Plant-based Vitamin C. Natural Food

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Plant-based Zinc. Natural Food

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Plant-based Calcium

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Plant-based Iron

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Plant-Based Protein

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Yabag Gidunggab

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Gisagpa ug durian

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Giilisag pangag. Ngano

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Nagdumog kinsay gwapa

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Ang gisi gikabuangan

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Jerjer Diay. Pastilan

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Yabag tingog gikulata

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Natigbasan

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Flooding in Talacogon, Agusan del Sur

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Buta at First Sight

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Nag-iniring sa Bintana

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Namugno kay giingnan nga tambok

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Sama ka dako sa bukton?

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Gibaklad

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Naunsa ning mga balita karon

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Nikirig news

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PH Death Penalty by Lethal Injection, as proposed by President Duterte.

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A call from VP Leni Robredo on fighting Covid-19

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No Friends as Deadly as Smoking?

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𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗔𝗛𝗜𝗡 | Ito ang pahayag ni City Health Officer, Dr. Jett Gajete-Oco kanina sa ginanap na Bridging Leadership Fellowship Program (BFLP) Colloqium and IHLGP Recognition Ceremony.

"Today marks the end of the formal partnership of the LGUs with DOH,  USAID and ZFF with 6 regions, 10 provinces and 6 cities belonging to the group of IHGLP sites under the Institutionalization of Health Leadership and Governance Project. This collaborative work between DOH, CHDs, provincial and city LGUs resulted in Improved Health Systems and Service Delivery Network for Better Health Outcomes."

Nagsimula noong taong 2018 ang City Leadership and Governance Program (CLGP) ng LGU-GenSan at nagtapos naman ngayong araw. Isa sa mga hangarin ng proyektong ito na mabigyan ng lokal na gobyerno ng tamang serbisyo ang mga nasasakupan nito. (CPIO/RR/RSC)

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Tagum Funded Projects
NEWS ADVISORY:
Mayor Allan Rellon led today the inauguration and blessing of the LGU Funded Infrastructure Projects worth more than 6.2 million pesos. Here's the breakdown:

-Construction of -Roads (5 projects), Drainage (3 projects), -Multi-Purpose Pave (2 projects)
-Residual Container Area (RCA) (3 projects)
-Patubig (3 projects) in the barangays of Cuambogan, La Filipina and Magugpo North. This is the 3rd day of the blessings.

Yesterday, July 29, 10.39 million pesos worth of infra projects were inaugurated and blessed.
-Patubig (9 projects), -Concreting of roads (6 projects)
-Drainage (3 projects) -RCA (2 projects) in barangays of Canocotan, Pagsabangan, and Mankilam.

It can recalled that last July 28, 2020, the series of blessings and inauguration started. More than 2.5 million-pesos worth of projects can now be used by Tagumenyos.
-Patubig  (14 projects) -Construction of Road(1project) in the coastal barangays of Busaon, Liboganon, Bingcungan and San Isidro.

The said activities were also witnessed by some members of 8th City Council together with LGU's department heads,  employees, and barangay officials.

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Be on your guard... 1 Corinthians 16:13

Joy Ride in the Philippines

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Taal Volcano Alert Level as of July 30, 2020

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Reposted from FB
#FactPH on sovereign debts, UTANG - a favorite topic of those with poor knowledge on how a country’s economy works but keep on babbling on social media. Hence, we #ExplainExplainExplain.

Lifted word per word from the public post of JAN Writer:

Public debt of selected major economies

Public debt, also known as sovereign debt, is debt a country owes to lenders outside of itself. They can include individuals, businesses, and even other government.[1]

Japan
GDP: $4.750 trilion
Public debt: 250% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $91,768

Greece
GDP: $175 billion
Public debt: 192% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $33,905

Italy
GDP: $2 trillion
Public debt: 157% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $41,056

Portugal
GDP: $200 billion
Public debt: 132% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $26,462

Singapore
GDP: $340 billion
Public debt: 120% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $60,016

United States
GDP: $19 trillion
Public debt: 120% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $46,645

Vietnam
GDP: $262 billion
Public debt: 62% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $1,329

Malaysia
GDP: $333 billion
Public debt: 53% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $5,313

Philippines
GDP: $360 billion
Public debt: 50% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $1,182

Thailand
GDP: $528 billion
Public debt: 46% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $2,781

Indonesia
GDP: $970 billion
Public debt: 36.5% (approx. 2020)
Public debt per capita (2017): $1,112

Facts:

- Almost all, if not all, countries in the world will have increased public debt by the end of 2020. That's just the hard fact about this pandemic. So, suck on that.

- The pandemic has brought the world economy to a standstill; therefore, it is an imperative for governments to borrow money (unless they have a huge amount of surplus) which will be used to subsidize businesses within their borders temporarily until they can resume their operations normally, and aid their citizens who are affected by the crisis. That's just the right thing to do.

Sa mga bobong katulad ni Ninotchka Rosca na nagkakalat ng alarmist narrative tungkol sa pangungutang ng gobyerno, magbasa naman kayo. Kung ayaw n'yong magbasa, huwag kayong magpaka-ekonomista. Hindi 'yan parang pangungutang sa bumbay tapos sisingilin ka sa katapusan na may 20% interest na.

There are methods and mechanisms that governments utilize to pay public debt, such as selling notes and bonds, adjusting the interest rate, austerity measures, raising taxes, among others.

So, is our current public debt something to worry about? Not really. Not as much as Japan should worry about its $12 trillion debt[5], or the United States over its record $22 trillion debt[6] compared to our roughly $183 billion[2].

Even Vietnam has more public debt than us in terms of debt-to-GDP ratio and their economy is smaller[2].

Ang ibig sabihin nito, kada Japanese, may utang na PhP4,515,490 at Php2,295,190 naman kada Kano. Bawat Vietnamese, may utang na PhP 65,387. Php 58,154 kada Pilipino. Converted ‘yan based on CIA data based on current exchange rates (July 28).

‘Di kayo ang sisingilin d’yan, mga inutil. Walang kakatok sa pinto n’yo para singilin kayo d’yan. Ang gobyerno ang magbabayad n’yan. TikTok lang kayo ng TikTok, mag-shopping sa SM at Lazada para may kitaing buwis ang gobyerno.

As long as our fiscal institutions remain functional, taxing authority is maintained (This is why we must go after tax evaders!) and our economic growth recovers, we're going to be ok. That is why it is important for the government to think of ways on how we can grow the economy while coexisting with COVID-19.

So far, international financial institutions have expressed confidence over our capacity to recover swiftly from this crisis. Otherwise, ‘di ‘yan magpapautang. So far, wala pa ni isang credit rating agency ang nag-downgrade ng credit rating natin. This means they are confident that we could pay off our debt obligations.

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FOR WIDEST DISSEMINATION
290720-76 Thunderstorm Adv No. 4 MIN_PRSD
>Issued:29July20, 8:00PM
>Moderate to heavy rainshowers with lightning and strong winds due to thunderstorms are expected over portions of Maguindanao, Sultan Kudarat, within the next 1 to 2 hours.
>The above conditions are being experienced in Bukidnon, Agusan del Sur, Agusan del Norte, #DavaoCity, #DavaodelSur, #DavaodelNorte, #DavaodeOro, #DavaoOriental, North Cotabato, South Cotabato, Sarangani (Kiamba, Maitum, Malungon, Maasim), and may affect nearby areas which may persist within 1 to 2 hours.
>All are advised to take precautionary measures against the impacts associated with these hazards which include flash floods and landslides.
>Keep monitoring for updates.

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Isip suporta sa Department of Education sa gipangandaman niining pag-abri sa klase karong August 24, mipirma og Memorandum of Understanding ang Provincial Government of Davao de Oro girepresentahan ni Governor Tyron Uy ug Vice Governor Maricar Zamora, Department of Education-Davao de Oro pinaagi ni Dr. Eufemia Gamutin, Schools Division Superintendent, ug Nabunturan Cable TV Network CEO Jeanette Uy para sa TV-based instruction nga gitawag niining TV Eskwela Program.

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DOE Sec. Cusi Hails Signing of EO 116 in Support of the Philippine Nuclear Energy Program

TAGUIG CITY- Energy Secretary Alfonso G. Cusi today hailed the signing by President Duterte of Executive Order (EO) 116 which, he said, is a “major step towards the realization of a Philippine nuclear energy program.”

EO 116, signed by the President on July 24, provides for the creation of the Nuclear Energy Program Inter-Agency Committee (NEP-IAC) to be chaired by the DOE, with the Department of Science and Technology (DOST) as Vice Chair.

The inter-agency body is mandated to primarily conduct a study for the adoption of a National Position on a Nuclear Energy Program (NEP).

Elated that the EO has finally been issued, Secretary Cusi said, “The Department of Energy welcomes EO116 as a major step towards the realization of a Philippine nuclear energy program â€" one which would benefit our people by enhancing our energy supply levels and help shield our consumers from traditional power price volatilities.”

As he thanked the President for finally signing the EO, Secretary Cusi said the government will continue to work closely with the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) and other experts to realize the inclusion of nuclear power in the country’s existing energy mix in the future.

“I believe that once we have successfully addressed infrastructure gaps as identified by the IAEA, and we have fulfilled all other necessary national requirements, our people and future generations will reap the economic benefits a nuclear energy program brings,” Secretary Cusi stressed.

In the issuance of the EO, the President cited the imperative need to revisit the country’s policy on nuclear energy and to determine its feasibility as a long term option for power generation.

Aside from the DOE and the DOST, the inter-agency body will have the following as members:

• Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR)
• Department of the Interior and Local Government (DILG)
• Department of Finance (DOF)
• Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA)
• National Economic and Development Authority (NEDA)
• National Power Corporation (NPC)
• National Transmission Corporation (Transco)
• Philippine Nuclear Research Institute (PNRI)
• Philippine Institute of Volcanology and Seismology (Phivolcs)

Specifically, EO 116 tasked the NEP-IAC to carry out the following:

A. Conduct a prefeasibility study to evaluate and assess the need for and viability of introducing nuclear power into the State's energy mix, taking into consideration economic, security and environmental implications, and engagement of the public and relevant stakeholders;

B. Evaluate and formulate a national strategy to include a roadmap and timeline in the preparation of a NEP, as well as measures to address infrastructure gaps and issues, and make appropriate recommendations thereon;

C. Review the existing legal framework, study the viability of nuclear energy, and recommend the necessary steps in the utilization of nuclear energy, as well as existing facilities such as but not limited to the Bataan Nuclear Power Plant;

D. Create sub-committees to facilitate decision-making on various issues that may arise in the course of study;

E. Promulgate guidelines and rules for the effective implementation of EO 116; and

F. Perform other functions as the President may direct.

The newly-signed EO empowers the NEP-IAC to call upon any department, agency or instrumentality of the government for assistance in the course of accomplishing its tasks. They are further allowed to seek the assistance of the IAEA and other international bodies to carry out their mandate.

EO 116 requires the NEP-IAC to submit an initial report to the Office of the President within six months or by January 2021.

Funding for the body’s operational expenses will be charged against the DOE budget, and other funding sources that may be identified by the Department of Budget and Management (DBM).

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Seek ye first the kingdom of GOD Matthew 6:33

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Psalms 5:12

DOE Sec. Cusi Orders Fast Tracking of NREP 2020-2040
Press Release

TAGUIG CITY- Energy Secretary Alfonso G. Cusi has directed the Department’s Renewable Energy Management Bureau to prioritize the completion of the National Renewable Energy Program (NREP) 2020-2040 to achieve the envisioned target of at least 20,000 MW of renewable energy (RE) installations in 20 years.

The Energy Chief also said the updating of the original NREP 2011-2030 is already long overdue, given the developments that had occurred since its conceptualization ten years ago.

The NREP outlines the policy framework enshrined in Republic Act 9513, or the Renewable Energy Act of 2008.

“There is a need to fast track the NREP to help the country achieve the goals set forth in the Renewable Energy Act of 2008,” Secretary Cusi noted.

In the Department of Energy’s (DOE) 2020 Accomplishment Report for the fifth State of the Nation Address of President Rodrigo R. Duterte, NREP 2020-2040 introduces a paradigm shift by RE systems in three main baskets, namely:

• Consumer + RE Systems: this will encourage the development of RE Systems to be utilized by consumers in the agriculture and fisheries, health, and education sectors. This basket aims to maximize the integration of battery, as well as other energy storage systems and information communication technology.

• Consumer + RE Systems + Distribution Utility: this aims to promote investment in the Net Metering Program, other demand-side participation schemes and distributed energy systems through various innovative, technical, and commercial approaches.

• Consumer + RE Systems + Distribution Utility + System and Market Operations: this will facilitate increased investments in large-scale RE projects, and hasten compliance with the
Renewable Portfolio Standards, the Green Energy Auction Policy, Renewable Energy Market Rules, the Green Energy Option Program, and the Smart Grid Policy, among other systems and policies.

Under the leadership of Secretary Cusi, the DOE has committed the full implementation of RA 9513. It has aggressively pursued the competitive development of RE within a "technology neutral" policy, which caters for all possible energy solutions, without prejudice to, or predisposition against, any particular resource.

In line with this policy, the DOE is looking at developing all possible energy sources, including nuclear; and is also open to fully utilizing all available technologies, especially those which are indigenous to country; to help the Philippines become energy secure and independent.

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Making a difference

1 John 4:7 Love One Another
New Testament

Globe Telecom CEO Ernest Cu on President Duterte’s order on telco companies to improve their services in the next five months or the country will do away with them:

WE HEED THE CALL OF THE PRESIDENT TO IMPROVE TELCO SERVICES.

This year, Globe earmarked USD1.2 billion in CAPEX, most of which goes to network and capacity builds. These substantial investments are paying off as we experience marked service improvements. In fact, we are being cited globally for having improved internet experience.

Despite this, the industry is not without its challenges. We have been experiencing long-drawn permitting process across LGUs, HOAs, and national agencies in our cellsite builds and laying down of fiber to homes, but we are positive that with the policies being enacted by the DICT, we will be able to fast-track builds of telco towers for a more robust connectivity and internet services for every Filipino.

Ernest Cu

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Psalm 119:165

Let justice roll

1 Samuel 16:7

Ctto: Facebook grabbed photo
Canhaway, Guindulman Mountain View

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By Mars Mosqueda Jr.
The Ming-Mori Minglanilla Reclamation Project covering 100 hectares easily accessible to Cebu City was issued an Environmental Compliance Certificate (ECC) by the Department of Environment and Natural Resources on July 22 following a comprehensive two-year review.

The joint venture among the local government of Minglanilla and private consortium partners Ming-Mori Development Corp. (MMDC), an affiliate of listed firm Cebu Landmasters Inc. (CLI), envisions a world-class estate that will generate over 75,000 jobs in the municipality and its environs while meeting sound environmental guidelines.

Following the issuance of the ECC considered one of the major prerequisites and milestones of a reclamation project, the development will now be subject to the approval process of the Philippine Reclamation Authority.

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IN support of the National Rabies Prevention and Control Program, the Philippine Health Insurance Corporation (PhilHealth) today launches its Animal Bite Treatment Package (ABTP) by defraying the cost of post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) treatment to all qualified PhilHealth beneficiaries.

The ABTP is worth P3,000.00 and covers the cost of providing Post-exposure Prophylaxis (PEP) services such as vaccines, immunoglobulin, antibiotics, and supplies. It primarily covers dog bites, but persons bitten by other domestic animals such as cats and livestock such as cows, pigs, horses, goats, as well as wild animals like bats and monkeys, may be covered.

It can also be availed of for Category III Rabies Exposure that includes trans-dermal bites such as puncture wounds, lacerations and avulsions, or scratches/abrasions with spontaneous bleeding. "The package is also applicable to members who had exposure to rabies patients through bites, contamination of mucous membranes or open skin lesions with body fluids through splattering and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," said PhilHealth President and CEO Dr. Eduardo P. Banzon.

Also considered for the package are situations brought about by handling of infected carcass, ingestion of raw infected meat, Category II rabies exposure involving the head and neck and patients with repeat exposures.

“Rabies is fatal, and without proper care, it can kill those who are infected. Statistics show that 200 to 300 deaths occur locally each year due to rabies, with the majority being children under 15 years old. It continues to be a public health problem in our country, that is why we have included this package in our priorities this year,” Banzon said.
Emphasizing that "not a single Filipino must die due to preventable diseases like rabies" and that "everyone must be able to access the care they need when they need it," Banzon said that the new benefit package is available to all members under all categories: Employed, Individually Paying, Overseas Workers, Sponsored and Lifetime members.

To avail of the package, employed and individually paying members including those under organized groups, must have three months’ contributions within a six-month period prior to the month of availment. On the other hand, sponsored and OFW-members may avail of the package within the validity period stated in their enhanced Member Data Records or ID cards, while lifetime members need only to show their LMP ID cards. Availment shall be charged one (1) day against the annual 45-day benefit limit for members and dependents.

Stressing the government agency’s preferential bias towards the less privileged sector of society, Banzon said the ‘No Balance Billing’ or the ‘walang dagdag bayad’ policy applies to sponsored members and their qualified dependents in ABTCs. “In no instance must the sponsored member or his dependents be charged for any fees or expenses included in the PEP items,” he said.

The ABTP shall be paid directly to Animal Bite Treatment Centers (ABTCs) recognized by the Department of Health and in private Animal Bite Centers (ABCs) that have signified their commitment to and participation in the provision of the package. (END)
Source: philhealth.gov.ph

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Mass Gatherings Are Restricted Due to Covid

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Pamiyabas ang kalingawan

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COVID-19 Updates as of July 25, 2020 (2:00 PM) from the City Health Office.

- Case No. 21

Patient is a 47-year-old Male who is a native of Malita, Davao Occidental but established residence here in Digos after he got married. He is still working in Malita as a driver and was not able to come home to Digos since the declaration of community quarantine in March due to border lockdown prohibitions. His employer decided to conduct routine swabbing among employees due to the possibility of exposure to a confirmed case, and he tested positive within his employment circle.

Patient is currently asymptomatic and admitted at one of the isolation facilities in Davao Occidental. Contact tracing and monitoring are facilitated by the local government of Malita.

- Case No. 22&23

Patients are both frontliners, a 22-year-old female and a 48-year-old male, working in the same department at a hospital here in Digos City.

They are both asymptomatic and admitted at the DSPH COVID isolation unit for further monitoring and evaluation.

All close contacts are being identified and will be scheduled for testing.

SOURCE :CITY GOVERNMENT OF DIGOS - PAGE

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Reposted from FB: Ayun sa masusing pag-aaral ni Dr. Luther Daguimol na Ang Betel Pepper ay Nagtataglay Ng napakarami at Mabisang benepisyo pra sa mga Karamdaman.

English: Betel Pepper
Bicol:Buyo
Tagalog: Ikmo
Bisaya: Buyok, Buyo-buyo, Kanisi
ilocano: Samat
Maranao: Namat

Benefits and Procedure:

#Diabetes: ngoyain Ang fresh leaves, lunokin ang katas.

#Prostate Cancer, Lymphom Cancer and Blood clot= (same procedure) i-blend or dikdikin ang dahon uminom 1/4 glass 3x a day for 20days.

#Depression: ngoyain ang dahon, lunokin ang katas.

#Pananakit ng Katawan= Painitan saglit sa apoy at itapal.

#Pigsa: Dikdikin at itapal ang dahon, palitan every 4 hours.

#Alzheimer's disease= Mag ngoya ng Dahon daily, lunokin ang katas lamang.

#Platelet, Anemia, Breast Cancer and Lung Cancer= (same procedure) i-blend or i-juicer ang dahon uminom half glass Twice a day.

#Cholesterol: Isang baso tinadtad na dahon, pakuloan sa 2 baso na tubig in 3-5 minutes, ubusin sa aginum ang natira.

#Oral Cancer= i-blend or dikdikin ang dahon, uminom 1/4 glass 3x a day.

#Leukemia: ilagay sa blender ang dahon add half glass of water rheny blend, salain, pigain, uminom every 6 hours.

#Buni: Dikdikin ang dahon at ipahid ang dahon 3x a day.

#Peptic Ulcer and Liver Polyps= (same procedure) i-blend ang dahon, pigain, uminom half cup 3x a day.

#Bronchitis: i-blend or dikdikin ang dahon, uminom 3 tablespoon 3x a day.

#Sakit sa Tenga= Dikdikin ang dahon, pigain, isang patak sa umaga't hapon twice a day.

#Kabag: Dikdikin ang dahon lagyan ng coconut or Olive oil at itapal sa tiyan. (Maganda sa Sanggol)

#Sakit sa Noo= Dikdikin lagyan ng coconut or Olive oil at itapal sa noo.

#Sakit sa Ngipin= Dikdikin ang dahon at itapal sa butas.

#Singaw: Dikdikin ang dahon at itapal or ipahid ang katas.

#Sore throat= Pakuloan ang dahon tapos i-gargle na maaligamgam.

#Diphtheria, Malaria at Rayuma= (same procedure) Pakuloin ang dahon, uminom, 2 cups a day.


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Reposted from FB

This is an article about a Guindulmanon who happens to be a "living" Olympian in BOXING. He competed in 1968 Olympics in Mexico. His name is Teogenes Peligrino and resides in Basdio, Guindulman, Bohol. He brought an honor to our town and to our country back then. Nobody knows this, or at least we, the new generation of Guindulmanons, do not know him till now. He has NOT been properly honored by our Philippine government or even our community, which is to me sounds weird or incredible but not surprising, according to another Guindulmanon journalist-writer of Bohol Standard named Fred Amora. He is almost forgotten. Thanks to Fred. I feature him in here just to honor him in my own little way and I hope you do too. I salute him for his determination to win during his time though it was long time ago. Hope to see more of his kind from our town, or even from our country. He has my respect. May his tribe multiply. Please congratulate him or even shake his hand if you happen to see him in the streets of Guindulman or in Basdio. Tell him, "thank you" for the honor and pride he gave us, even though it was quite long past. That was very remarkable. Am not sure he is a SMA Alumnus, but he might.

ctto: FB post of Saint Mary Academy

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From the post of Manny Piñol
Added financial burden!

MinDA ASKS IATF: 'SUSPEND
MOTORCYCLE BARRIER RULE"

Acting on the appeal of poor families in Mindanao who depend on motorcycles for their livelihood, the Mindanao Development Authority (MinDA) yesterday asked the Inter-Agency Task Force on COVID-19 to reconsider and suspend its policy requiring barriers for people riding tandem.

In an official memorandum forwarded to the IATF yesterday, MinDA, a field agency directly under the Office of the President, cited that the new policy set to be implemented Monday will be an added financial burden on poor families whose only means of movement is the motorcycle.

Based on the feedback gathered by MinDA from the field, three reasons were cited by those who appeal for a reconsideration on this new IATF Policy.

1. Impractical since the barrier makes riding tandem dangerous because a strong gust of wind caused by huge vehicles coming from the opposite direction could throw the motorcycle off-balance and may lead to accidents;

2. Expensive and oppressive. The barrier will be an added financial burden on poor families who use motorcyles for livelihood and transport and the excessive fines on violators of the policy could open a new window for corruption.

3. The policy is also viewed as discriminatory because the concern on the possible transmission of COVID 19 virus between two people traveling together is only focused on motorcycle riding but it ignores the fact that those traveling inside air-conditioned private cars face greater risks.

As Chairman of MinDA, I personally directed the preparation and transmission of the Memorandum to the IATF to give them a clearer understanding of the reaction of the common Filipino on the ground.

I consider myself a field operative heading an agency which is well-grounded thus it is my duty to provide feedbacks to our policy makers.

The Motorcycle Barrier Policy is an added financial burden which will affect efforts to restart the economy in Mindanao, as well as in other rural areas of the country where the motorcycle is the main vehicle for transport and livelihood.

We support the IATF's effort to control the spread of the COVID 19 virus but surely, there are other ways of doing it other than implementing measures which would make life more difficult for our people.

#GovernanceIsCommonSense!
#touchgroundfeelthepulse!

(Photos were downloaded from public websites. Attached to this post is the image of the memorandum forwarded by MinDA to the IATF.)

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Reposted from FB
From John's Hopkins Hospital...........

COVID - 19 virus is not a living organism. It is a protein molecule (RNA or DNA) covered by a protective layer of lipid (fat), which, when absorbed by the cells of the ocular (eyes), nasal (nose) or buccal mucosa (mouth), changes their genetic code (mutates) and converts into aggressor and multiplier cells.

* Since the virus is not a living organism, but is a protein molecule, it cannot be killed.  It has to decay on its own. The disintegration time depends on the temperature, humidity and type of material where it lies

* The virus is very fragile; the only thing that protects it is a thin outer layer of fat and that is the reason why soap or detergent is the best weapon.  The foam CUTS THE FAT (that is why you have to scrub for 20 seconds or more, to create lots of foam).
By dissolving the fat layer, the protein molecule disperses and breaks down.

* HEAT melts fat; this is why it is necessary to use water above77degrees for hand washing, laundry and cleaning surfaces. In addition, hot water makes more foam, making it more effective.

* Alcohol or any mixture with alcohol over 65% DISSOLVES ALL FAT, especially the external lipid layer of the virus.

* Any solution with 1 part bleach and 5 parts water directly dissolves the protein, breaking it down from the inside.

* Oxygenated water increases the effectiveness of soap, alcohol and chlorine, because peroxide dissolves the virus protein.  However, because you have to use it in its pure form, it can damage your skin.

* NO BACTERICIDE OR ANTIBIOTIC WILL WORK because the virus is not a living organism like bacteria; antibodies cannot kill what is not alive.
 
* The virus molecules remain very stable at colder temperatures, including air conditioning in houses and cars.  They also need moisture and darkness to stay stable. Therefore, dehumidified, dry, warm and bright environments will degrade the virus faster.

* UV LIGHT on any object that may contain the virus breaks down the protein.  Be careful, it also breaks down collagen (which is protein) in the skin.

* The virus CANNOT go through healthy skin.

* Vinegar is NOT useful because it does not break down the protective layer of fat.

* NO SPIRITS, NOR VODKA, serve. The strongest vodka is only 40% alcohol, and you need a minimum of 65%.

* LISTERINE  is 65% alcohol.

* The more confined the space, the higher the concentration of the virus there can be. The more open or naturally ventilated, the less.

* You have to wash your hands before and after touching any commonly used surfaces such as : mucosa (mouth area) , food, locks, knobs, switches, remotes, cell phones, watches, computers, desks etc. and don’t forget when you use the bathroom.

* You have to MOISTURIZE YOUR HANDS due to frequent washing.  Dry hands have cracks and the molecules can hide in the micro cracks The thicker the moisturizer, the better.

* Also keep your NAILS SHORT so that the virus does not hide there.

PLEASE SHARE WITH YOUR FRIENDS

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Rolling hills in Ubay, Bohol

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