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Declamation Pieces

Declamation Pieces

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Published by teddytapper

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Published by: teddytapper on Oct 09, 2009
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06/10/2013

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Desiderata by Max EhrmannGo placidly amid the noise and haste,and remember what peace there may be in silence.As far as possible without surrenderbe on good terms with all persons.Speak your truth quietly and clearly;and listen to others,even the dull and the ignorant;they too have their story.Avoid loud and aggressive persons,they are vexations to the spirit.If you compare yourself with others,you may become vain and bitter;for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.Keep interested in your own career, however humble;it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.Exercise caution in your business affairs;for the world is full of trickery.But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;many persons strive for high ideals;and everywhere life is full of heroism.Be yourself.Especially, do not feign affection.Neither be cynical about love;for in the face of all aridity and disenchantmentit is as perennial as the grass.Take kindly the counsel of the years,gracefully surrendering the things of youth.Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.Beyond a wholesome discipline,be gentle with yourself.You are a child of the universe,no less than the trees and the stars;you have a right to be here.And whether or not it is clear to you,no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.Therefore be at peace with God,whatever you conceive Him to be,and whatever your labors and aspirations,in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,it is still a beautiful world.Be cheerful.Strive to be happy.
 
Ring Out, Wild Bells by Alfred Lord TennysonRing out, wild bells, to the wild sky,The flying cloud, the frosty light;The year is dying in the night;Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.Ring out the old, ring in the new,Ring, happy bells, across the snow:The year is going, let him go;Ring out the false, ring in the true.Ring out the grief that saps the mind,For those that here we see no more,Ring out the feud of rich and poor,Ring in redress to all mankind.Ring out a slowly dying cause,And ancient forms of party strife;Ring in the nobler modes of life,With sweeter manners, purer laws.Ring out the want, the care the sin,The faithless coldness of the times;Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,But ring the fuller minstrel in.Ring out false pride in place and blood,The civic slander and the spite;Ring in the love of truth and right,Ring in the common love of good.Ring out old shapes of foul disease,Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;Ring out the thousand wars of old,Ring in the thousand years of peace.Ring in the valiant man and free,The larger heart, the kindlier hand;Ring out the darkness of the land,Ring in the Christ that is to be.The Song of the Shirt by Thomas HoodWith fingers weary and worn,With eyelids heavy and red,A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,Plying her needle and thread--Stitch! stitch! stitch!In poverty, hunger, and dirt,And still with a voice of dolorous pitchShe sang the "Song of the Shirt.""Work! work! work!While the cock is crowing aloof!And work — work — work,
 
Till the stars shine through the roof!It's Oh! to be a slaveAlong with the barbarous Turk,Where woman has never a soul to save,If this is Christian work!"Work — work — workTill the brain begins to swim;Work — work — workTill the eyes are heavy and dim!Seam, and gusset, and band,Band, and gusset, and seam,Till over the buttons I fall asleep,And sew them on in a dream!"Oh, Men, with Sisters dear!Oh, Men, with Mothers and Wives!It is not linen you're wearing out,But human creatures' lives!Stitch — stitch — stitch,In poverty, hunger, and dirt,Sewing at once with a double thread,A Shroud as well as a Shirt.But why do I talk of Death?That Phantom of grisly bone,I hardly fear its terrible shape,It seems so like my own — It seems so like my own,Because of the fasts I keep;Oh, God! that bread should be so dear,And flesh and blood so cheap!"Work — work — work!My Labour never flags;And what are its wages? A bed of straw,A crust of bread — and rags.That shatter'd roof — and this naked floor — A table — a broken chair — And a wall so blank, my shadow I thankFor sometimes falling there!"Work — work — work!From weary chime to chime,Work — work — work!As prisoners work for crime!Band, and gusset, and seam,Seam, and gusset, and band,Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumb'd,As well as the weary hand."Work — work — work,In the dull December light,And work — work — work,When the weather is warm and bright — While underneath the eavesThe brooding swallows cling

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