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WHAT IS A DECLAMATION? Declamation is also known as Oratorical Declamation or Oratorical Interpretation, commonly abbreviated to "dec".

ot;. It is a public speaking event, a speech and debate activity in general. It is Dramatic Performance or Original Oratory. The act or art of declaiming; rhetorical delivery; haranguing; loud speaking in public; especially, the public recitation of speeches as an exercise in schools and colleges; as, the practice declamation by students. A LITTLE BOYS DREAM The bed was long and the bed was wide, and high was its polished head ; But in spite of its length and breadth and height it still was a little boy's bed, And he said he would loan it me, he would, but just for a night or so, Or through the visit r d make the two r d known in the long ago When they were as little as he is now, as he is, their little boy; Oh, days and ways of the long ago! When the morns came in with joy, And day went out with a lilt of glee which came through the fading light ! The moms were good and the nights were good! Why, always we said, "Goodnight." And I was visiting them that night, and when our goodnights were said I set my sails for the land of dreams, I did, from a little boy's bed; And that's how it happened, or I suppose that's how it happened to me, The angels came with their bags of dreams from over the Dreamland SeaFrom away out over the Dreamland Sea-and white was the pearly gleam Of their snowy wings-and by mistake they left me a little boy's dream ! They did! I dreamed I was three years old, and my eyes they were glad and blue; And my cheeks were as round as a little boy's, and my chin it was dimpled, too. And I was wishing as small boys do, as hard as tl1ey ever can, That I could hurry across the years, and that I could be a man ; I did, I wanted to be a man, as hard as I ever could ; For being a boy was an irksome thing, and being a man seemed good ! And then I awoke, and found I was the thing I had longed to be! The years had whitened and thinned my locks and long had their will with me, And I was old! And, Oh, I longed and reached for my dream again! But night was gone, and I was launched again in the world of men ! But I hope with all of my heart the boy, wherever he chanced to be, Had somehow captured the dream which came from out of Dreamland for me ; I hope he dreamed he was old, so old he was nearing the end of joy; And I hope he wished with a grieving wish that he was a little boy, And could go aback down the weary years to the meadows where blossoms blow Beside the ways of the little boys he had known in the long ago; And I hope he awoke with the tears undried on the cheeks he had dreamed were old And found that he was a little boy with all of life's tales untold. I hope he did. It would be a joy to me if I knew that he Had somehow captured the dream which came from out of Dreamland for me As I got the dream which was meant for him. 'Twere good for a boy to know How men dream dreams and long and long for days of the long ago; And if he captured an old man's dream, and woke up a little boy, He will go his way and will know more than he otherwise would of joy; He will know that little boys grown tall, and out in the world, of men, Are always wishing down in their hearts that they could be boys again.

THE MOCKINGBIRD You sing a song of Texas, So every way complete, So lingeringly, lovingly, Superlatively sweet, Of bluebonnets on sunward slopes, Primroses in me sun, Of its wide prairies, that one sees Their green wind-ripples run. You sing a song of Texas; Perched high against me dawn, You sing of a new perfect day, Not of me darkness gone; You sing a song of husbandry, Of where brown furrows run, Of cotton growing in wide fields, Blooms lifted to me sun. You sing a song of Texas; A land supremely blest; A joyous song of each new dawn, Each latest song me best; Of piney woods and mountain lands, Plains sloping to blue seas, Of laden argosies with flags A-flutter on me breeze. You sing a song of Texas ; A dawn song, and at night A song of tasks conceived and done, Of windows all alight; A song of little bungalows, Of children, love and rest;

A song of home-love, without which

No land is truly best. DESPAIR OF JUDAS

I will rest here, awhile. His face! His face! Not comely now. There is no beauty in it. It is scarred into my heart. It is burned into my soul and never will it lift from me until I die. Die? Will death quench the flames which consume me? Traitor, not endless years in hell can even pay the crime of murdering the son of God. And last night, he dealt with me so gently. He washed my feet. He bade me to put my hand into the cup with his, while in my purse there jingled the coins which bought his blood. It was better for that man that he had never been born. Who? Who but I, who but I, I who betrayed him! What you do, do it quickly. He knew, and kept my sin a secret. Friend, where unto have you come, Judas, Judas, do you betray the Son of God with a kiss? Friend! Friend! He called me his friend. The man I betrayed called me his friend. How hell must have laughed. Why did not the mountains fall on me? Why did not the earth gape and swallow me up? Why did not the sea overwhelm me? Friend. Ha! Ha! Friend. Ha! Ha! Ha! The world will know Judas as the friend. The world will point to Judas as a by word, and as a pledge of broken faith! Do you think Judas you can hide from the father of your friend Jesus? Not even in hell can I escape. Not in the grave for the earth will spurn my corpse. Not in the heavens for Jesus the friend is there. What hope for Judas? What hope for Judas? Not even in hell can I escape for he called me devil, and devils cried out: torment us not, Jesus, Judas, faithless friend, devil, one of whom it would have been better not to have been born. There is no hope for you, no hope, no hope RING OUT, WILD BELLS Ring 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. THE MAN WITH A HOE Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back, the burden of the world. Who made him dead to rapture and despair, A thing that grieves not and that never hopes, Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox? Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw? Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow? Whose breath blew out the light within this brain? Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave To have dominion over sea and land; To trace the stars and search the heavens for power; To feel the passion of Eternity? Is this the dream He dreamed who shaped the suns And marked their ways upon the ancient deep? Down all the caverns of Hell to their last gulf There is no shape more terrible than this-More tongued with cries against the world's blind greed-More filled with signs and portents for the soul-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.

More packed with danger to the universe. What gulfs between him and the seraphim! Slave of the wheel of labor, what to him Are Plato and the swing of the Pleiades? What the long reaches of the peaks of song, The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose? Through this dread shape the suffering ages look; Time's tragedy is in that aching stoop; Through this dread shape humanity betrayed, Plundered, profaned and disinherited, Cries protest to the Powers that made the world, A protest that is also prophecy. O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, Is this the handiwork you give to God,

This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched? How will you ever straighten up this shape; Touch it again with immortality; Give back the upward looking and the light; Rebuild in it the music and the dream; Make right the immemorial infamies, Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes? O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, How will the future reckon with this Man? How answer his brute question in that hour When whirlwinds of rebellion shake all shores? How will it be with kingdoms and with kings-With those who shaped him to the thing he is-When this dumb Terror shall rise to judge the world, After the silence of the centuries?

A GLASS OF COLD WATER Everybody calls me young, beautiful, wonderful. Am I? Look at my hair, my lips, my red rosy cheeks and a pair of blinkering eyes. I remember, somebody says that I look like my mother that I look like my mother. But that when she was young. Now, I am much lovelier than she is. Im a mortal Venus. Oops! What time is it? I must get ready for the party! Beep-beep!A-huh! Here they are! Yes, Im coming! "Child, are you still there?" "Hmp! Thats my mama" "Child, are you still there? Will you please get me a glass of cold water?" "Mama, Im in a hurry!" "Please child, try to get me a glass of cold water." Oh, God, just for the glass of cold water! Mama! Mama! Oh, Mama! CASEY JONES Come, all you rounder, for I want you to hear The story told of an engineer; Casey Jones was the rounders name, A heavy eight-wheeler of a mighty fame. Caller called Jones about half past four. He kissed his wife at the station door, Climbed into the cab with the orders in his hand, Says, This is my trip to the holy land. Through South Memphis yards on the fly, He heard the fore boy say, Youve got a white eye, All the switchmen knew by the engine moan That the man at the throttle was Casey Jones. It had been raining some five or six weeks, The railroad track was like the bed of a creek. They rated him down to a thirty-mile gait, Threw the southbound mail about eight hours late. Foreman says, Casey, youre runnin too fast, You run the block board the last station you passed. Jones says, Yes, I believe well make it, though, For the steams better than I ever know. Jones says, Foreman, dont you fret; Keep knockin at the fire door, dont give up yet. Im going to run her till she leaves the rail, Or make it on time with the Southern mail. Around the curve and down the dump, Two locomotives were bound to bump. Foreman hollered, Jones, its just ahead, We might jump and make it, but well all be dead. It was around this curve he spied a passenger train, Rousing his engine he caused the bell to ring; Foreman jumped off, but Jones stayed on Hes a good engineer, but hes dead and gone. Poor Casey Jones was all right, For he stuck to his duty both day and night, They loved to hear his whistle and ring of number three, "Mama, Im home! Its very quiet. "Mama, Im home!" Nobody answers. Where is she? I look for her in the sala, but shes not there. Where is she? A-huh! In the kitchen! I saw my mama, lying down on the floor, dead. With a glass on her hand. I remember, she tried to get it. "Mama, please, try to get it on your own." "Please child, try to get me a glass of cold water!" At the party, I danced and danced the whole night. You see, I cant leave the party at once. I have to danced with everybody who proposed to me. At last, the party is over. Im very tired. Very, very tired. So, I went home to tell mama what happened.

As he came into Memphis on the old I.C. Headaches and heartaches and all kinds of pain

Are not apart from a railroad train; Tales that is in earnest, noble, and grand, Belong to the life of a railroad man. IT IS RAINING

It is raining. Where would you like to be in the rain? Where would you like to be? Id like to be on a city street Where the rain comes driving down Trying to make things neat As it washes the houses, roof and wall The taxis, buses, cars, and all. Thats where Id like to be in the rain Thats where Id like to be. It is raining. Where would you like to be in the rain? Where would you like to be? Id like to be in a tall tree top Where the rain comes dripping drop, drop, drop, drop, Around on every side where it wets the farmers, the barns, the pig.

the cows, the chickens, both little and big. Where it batters and beats on a field of grain. And makes the little birds hide from the rain. Thats where Id like to be in the rain. Thats where Id like to be. It is raining. Where would you like to be in the rain? Where would you like to be? Id like to be on a ship at sea Where everythings wet as can be And the waves are rolling high Where sailors are pulling the ropes and singing And winds in the rigging and salts sprays stinging And round us sea gulls cry On a dipping, skimming ship at sea. Thats where Id like to be in the rain. Thats where Id like to be.

O WHAT IS THAT SOUND? O what is that sound which so thrills the ear Down in the valley drumming, drumming? Only the scarlet soldiers, dear, The soldiers coming. O what is that light I see flashing so clear? Over the distance brightly, brightly? Only the sun on their weapons, dear, As they step lightly. O what are they doing with all that gear? What are they doing this morning, this morning? Only their usual maneuvers, dear, O perhaps a warning. O why have they left the road down there? Or why are they suddenly wheeling, wheeling? Perhaps a change in the orders, dear. O havent they stopped for the doctors care: Havent they reined their horses, their horses? Why, they are none of them wounded, dear, None of these forces. O is it the parson they want with white hair; Is it the parson, is it, is it? No, they are passing his gateway, dear, And now they are running. O where are you going? Stay with me, here! Were the vows you swore me deceiving, deceiving? No, I promised to love you, dear, But I must be leaving. O its broken the lock and splintered the door, O its the gate where theyre turning, turning; Their feet are heavy on the floor And their eyes are burning.

THE TORCH OF LIFE Theres a breathless hush in the close tonight: Ten to make and the match to win A bumping pitch and a blinding light, An hour to play and the last man in. And its not for the sake of a ribboned coat, Or the selfish hope of a seasons fame, But his captains hand on his shoulder smote: Play up! Play up! And play the game! The sand of the desert is sodden red, Red with the wreck of a square that broke; The gatlings jammed and the colonel dead, And the regiment blind with dust and smoke. The river of death has brimmed his banks, And Englands far, and Honor a name, But the voice of a Schoolboy rallies the ranks: Play up! Play up! And play the game! This is the word that year by year, While in her place the school is set, Every one of her sons must hear, And none that hears it dare forget. This they all with a joyful mind. Bear through life like a torch in flame, And falling fling to the host behind: Play up! Play up! And play the game! THE DEATH OF ROLAND Roland feels his death is near; His brain is oozing by either ear. For his peers he prayed. God keep them well; Invoked the angel Gabriel. That none reproach him, his horn he clasped;

His other hand Durendal, his sword, he grasped; And farther then a crossbow sent a bolt Across the march of Spain he went Where on a mound, two trees between Four flights of marble steps were seen Backward he fell, on the field to lie; And he swooned anon, for the end was nigh. High were the mountains and high the trees, Bright shone the marble terraces; On the green grass Roland has swooned away, A Saracen spied him where he lay; Stretched with the rest he had feigned him dead, His face and body with blood he spread. To his feet he sprang, and in hate he ran In pride and wrath he was overbold, And on Roland, body and arms, laid hold The nephew of Karl is overthrown! To Araby bear I this sword, mine own. He stooped to grasp it, but as he drew, Roland returned to his sense anew. He saw the Saracen seize his sword; His eyes he opened and he spoke one word, You are not one of our band, I know. And he clutched the horn he would never forego; On the golden crest he smote him full. Shattering steel and bone and skull, Forth from his head his eyes he beat, Miscreant, makes you then so free? Who hears it will deem you a madman born; Behold the mouth of my ivory horn Broken for you and the gems and gold Around its rim to earth are rolled. Roland feels his eyesight going, Yet he stands erect with what strength is left; From his bloodless cheek is the color dispelled, But his Durendal all bare he held In front a dark-blown rock arose, He smote upon it ten grievous blows. Grated the steel as it struck the flint, Yet it broke not, nor bore its edge one dint. Mary, Mother, be you my aid!

Ah, Durendal, my ill-starred blade. I may no longer be your guardian! What fields of battle I won with you! What realms and regions it was ours to gain! Now the lordship of Charlemagne Never shall your possessor know Who would turn from face of mortal foe. A gallant vassal so long you bore, Such as France the free shall know no more. Roland feels his hour at hand; On a knoll he lies toward the Spanish land, With one hand he beats upon his breast: In your sight, O God, be my sins confessed; From my hour of birth, both the great and small, Down to this day, I repent of all. As his glove he raised to God on high, Angels of heaven descend him nigh. Beneath a pine was his resting place, To the land of Spain has turned his face; In his memory rose full many a thought Of the lands he won and the fields he fought; Of his gentle France, of his kin and line; Of his nursing father, king Karl benign; He may not tears and sobs control, Nor yet forget his parting soul. To Gods compassion he makes his cry; O Father true, who cannot lie, Who did Lazarus raise unto life again. And Daniel shield in the lions den, Shield my soul from its peril due For the sins I sinned my lifetime through. He did his right-hand glove uplift. Saint Gabriel took from his hand the gift Then drooped his head upon his breast, And with clasped hands he went to rest. God from on high sent down to him One of his angel cherubim, Saint Michael of Peril of the sea. Saint Gabriel in company. From heaven they came for that soul of price And they bore it with them to Paradise.

THE OAK AND THE REED The oak one day address the reed: To you ungenerous indeed Has nature been, my humble friend, With weakness aye obliged to bend. The smallest bird that flits in air Is quite too much for you to bear; The slightest wind that wreathes the lake Your ever-trembling head does shake. The while, my towering form Dares with the mountain top The solar blaze to stop, And wrestle with the storm. What seems to you the blast of death, To me is but a zephyrs breath. Beneath my branches head you grown. That spread for round their friendly bower, Less suffering would your life have known, Defended from the tempests power. Unhappily you oftenest show In open air your slender form, Along the marches wet and low, That fringe the kingdom of the storm. To you, declare I must, Dame Nature seems unjust. Then modesty replied the reed: Your pity, sir, is kind indeed, But wholly needless for my sake. The wildest wind that ever blew Is safe to me compared with you I bend, indeed, but never break. Thus far, I own the hurricane Has beat your sturdy back in vain, But wait the end.

Just as the word The tempests hollow voice was heard. The North sent forth her fiercest child, Dark, jagged, pitiless, and wild. The oak, erect, endured the blow; The reed bowed gracefully and low,

But, gathering up its strength once more In greater fury than before, The savage blast Overthrew, at last, That proud, old sky-encircled head, Whose feet entwined the empire of the dead! THE CHARCOAL BURNERS SON

My father hes at the kiln away. My mother sits at her spinning; But wait, Ill too be a man someday, And a sweetheart Ill be winning. So dark it is far off in the forest. At dawn I am up and off with the sun Hurrah! When the suns a-shimmer, To father then with his food with me, And long mountain shadows are thrown there. So dark it is far off in the forest. Tralala! As glad as a bird in flight Ill sing as the path I follow. But harsh the reply from the mountain high, And the woods are heavy and hollow. So dark it is far off in the forest. The shadows come down so thick, so thick, As if curtains were drawn together, Theres rustle and rattle of stone and stick, And trolls are walking the heather, So dark it is far off in the forest.

Theres one! There are two! In their net theyll take Me, alas! how the fires are waving! They beckon, O God, do not forsake me! By flight my life Id be saving, So dark it is far off in the forest. The hours went by, the daylight was gone, The way it grew ever more wild now, Theres whispering and rustling over stick and over stone As over the heath runs the child now. So dark it is far off in the forest. With rosy-red cheeks and heart beating fast, To his fathers kiln swiftly fleeing, he fell. My dear son, oh, welcome at last! Tis trolls, aye, and worse Ive been seeing. So dark it is far off in the forest. My son, it is long here Ive had to dwell, But my God has preserved me from evil. Whoever knows his Our Father well Fears neither for troll nor for devil, Though dark it is far off in the forest.

MY GET UP AND GO HAS GOT UP AND WENT How do I know that my youths all spent? Well, my get up and go has got up and went. But in spite of it all, I am able to grin When I recall where my get up has been. Old age is golden, so Ive heard it said, But sometimes I wonder, when I get into bed My ears in a drawer and teeth in a cup, My eyes on the table until I wake up. The sleep dims my eyes, I say to myself Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf? And I am happy to say as I close my door, My friends are the same, perhaps even more. When I was young, my slippers were red, I could kick up my heels right over my head, When I grew older my slippers were blue, But still I could dance the whole night through. Now I am old, my slippers are black. I walk to the store and puff my way back; The reason I know my youth is all spent, My get up and go has got up and went. But I really dont mind, when I think with a grin. Of all the grand places my get up has been. Since I have retired from lifes competition, I busy myself with complete repetition. I get up each morning, dust off my wits, Pick up my paper, and read the Orbits. If my name is missing, I know Im not dead. So I eat a good breakfast, and go back to bed.

THE SPIDER AND THE FLY Will you walk into my parlor? Said the spider to the fly. This the prettiest little parlor That you ever spy. The way into my parlor Is up at a winding stair And I have many curious things To show when you are there. Oh, no, no! said the fly To ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding stair. Can never come down again . Sweet creature, said the spider. Youre witty and youre wise; How handsome are your gauzy wings; How brilliant are your eyes!

I have a little looking glass Upon my parlor shelf; If youll step in one moment, dear, You shall behold yourself I thank you, gentle, sir, she said, For what youre pleased to say, And bidding you good morning now, Ill call another day. The spider turned round about, And went into his den For well he knew the silly fly Would soon be back again. So he wove a subtle thread In a little concern sly And set his table ready To dine upon the fly. He went upon to his door again And mercily did sing Come hither, hither pretty fly, With the pearl and silver wings.

Your robes are green and purple Theres a crest upon your head Your eyes are like the diamond bright But mine as dull as lead. Alas! Alas! How very soon This silly little fly Hearing his wily, flattering words Came slowly flitting by. With buzzing wings he hung aloft Then near and nearer drew Thinking only of her brilliant eyes And the green and purple hue. Thinking only of her crested head Poor foolish thing! At last Up jumped the cunning spider And fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding stair. Into his dismal den Within his little parlor And the fly never came out again! DESIDERATA

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be 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 disenchantment it 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.

THE CITY IN THE SEA Lo! Death has reared himself a throne In a strange city lying alone Far down within the dim West, Where the good, the bad, and the worst and the best Have gone to their eternal rest. There shrines and palaces and towers (Time-eaten towers that tremble not) Resemble nothing that is ours Around, by lifting winds forgot Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. No rays from the holy heaven come down On the long night-time of that town; But light from out the lurid sea Streams up the turrets silently Gleams up the pinnacles far and free Up domes up spires up kingly halls Up fanes up Babylon like walls Up shadowy long forgotten bowers Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers Up many and many marvelous shrine

Whose wreathed friezes intertwine The viol, the violet, and the vine Resignedly beneath the sky The melancholy waters lie. So blend the turrets and shadow there That seem pendulous in the air While from a proud tower in the town Death looks gigantically down. There open fanes and gaping graves Yawn level with the luminous waves: But not the riches there that lie In each idols diamond eye Not the gaily-jeweled dead Tempt the waters from their bed: For no ripple curl, alas! Along the wilderness of glass

No swellings tell that winds may be Upon some far-off happier sea No heaving hints that winds have been No seas less hideously serene. But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow The hours are breathing faint and low And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence. THE ERL-KING

Oh who rides by night through the woodland so wild? It is the fond father embracing his child; And close the boy nestles within his loved arm, To hold himself fast and to keep himself warm. Oh Father, see yonder! See yonder! he says; My boy, upon what do you fearfully gaze? Oh, it is the Erl-King with his crown and his shroud. No, my son, it it but a dark wreath of the cloud. Oh come and go with me, you lovely child; By many a gay sport shall your time be beguiled; My mother keeps for you full many a fair toy, And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy. .Oh Father, my Father, and did you not hear The Erl-King whisper so low in my ear? Be still, my hearts darling my child, be at ease; It was but the wild blast as it sang through the trees.

Oh, will you go with me, you lovely boy? My daughter shall tend you with care and with joy; Shall bear you so lightly through wet and through wild, And press you, and kiss you, and sing to my child. .Oh Father, my Father, and saw you not plain The Erl-Kings pale daughter glide past thro the rain? Oh yes, my loved treasure, I knew it full soon; It as the gray willow that danced to the moon. Oh come and go with me, no longer delay, Or else, silly child, I will drag you away. .Oh Father, Oh Father! Now, now, keep your hold, The Erl-King has seized me his grasp is so cold. Sore trembled the father; he spurred thro the wild, Clasping to his bosom his shuddering child; He reached his dwelling in doubt and in dread, But, clasped to his bosom, the infant was dead! TRADES

I want to be a carpenter, To work all day long in clean wood, Shaving it into little this slivers Which screw up into curls behind my plane; Pounding square, black nails into white boards, With the claws of my hammer glistening Like the tongue of a snake. I want to shingle a house, Sitting on a ridgepole, in a bright breeze. I want to put the shingles on neatly, Taking great care that each is directly between two others. I want my hands to have the tang of wood; Spruce, cedar, cypress. I want to draw a line on a board with a flat pencil,

And then saw along that line, With the sweet-smelling sawdust piling up in a yellow heap at my feet. That is the life I want to be! Heigh-ho! Sleet and shift for the slippery climb, How they stop a fire, or tinker a tire and pull into town on time. The city takes, and it goes its way, and the great dark hulks reload, While mechanics grease; and test, and check, to make them safe for the road; Then the crates are stacked and the boxes packed and the padding placed and then The tailboards slam, and the trailers ram, and the great trucks roll again!

MAN UPON THE CROSS Upon the cross against the hills of the night They nailed the man, and while they speared his breast they made him drink the bile. He bore the pains alone, alone But in the hallowed darkness saw Sweet Marys face upturned in grief below.

Tears filmed her eyes, but love chastened the tragic beauty of her face which neither death nor sorrow could erase. He saw and feebly in the silence strove

to speak a few remembered words: but now the whispers left his lips like tender birds. His arms were cold and death was in his eyes; the streams IF If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, Or being hated, don't give way to hating, And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to broken, And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools:

of blood were dry upon the whiteness of his limbs. His breath was like a wounded bird wanting to stay, to stay, bereft now Mary rose and treasuring his sorrow, left.

If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!' If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds' worth of distance run Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

THE SONG OF THE SHIRT With 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 pitch She 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 slave Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work! "Work work work Till the brain begins to swim; Work work work Till 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 thank For 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 eaves The brooding swallows cling As if to show me their sunny backs And twit me with the spring. Oh! but to breathe the breath

Of the cowslip and primrose sweet With the sky above my head, And the grass beneath my feet For only one short hour To feel as I used to feel, Before I knew the woes of want And the walk that costs a meal! Oh! but for one short hour! A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, But only time for Grief! A little weeping would ease my heart,

But in their briny bed My tears must stop, for every drop Hinders needle and thread!" With 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 pitch, Would that its tone could reach the Rich! She sang this "Song of the Shirt!" CASABLANCA

There was a great battle at sea. Once could hear nothing but the roars of the big guns. The air was filled with black smoke. The water was strewn with broken masts and pieces of timber, which the canon balls had knocked from the ships. Many men had been killed, and many more had been wounded. The flagship had taken fire. The flames were breakin out from below. The deck was ablaze. The men who were left alive made haste to launch a small boat. The leaped into it, and rowed swiftly away. Any other place was safer now than on board of the burning ship. There was powder in the hold. But the captains son. Young Casablanca, still stood upon the deck. The flames were almost all around him now but he would not stir from his post. His father had bidden him stand there, and he had been taught always to obey. He trusted in his fathers word, and believed that when the right time came, he would tell him to go. He saw the men leap into the boat. He heard them call to him to come. He shook his head. "When father bids me, I will go", he said. And now, the flames were leaping up the masts. The sails were all ablaze. The fire blew hot upon his cheek. It scorched his hair. It was before him, behind all around him. "Oh Father," he cried, "may I not go now? The men have all left the ship. Is it not the time that we, too, should leave it?" He did not know that his father was lying in the burning cabin below, that a cannon ball had struck him at the very beginning of the fight. He listened to hear his answer. "Speak louder, Father," he cried, "I cannot hear what you say". Above the roaring of the flames, above the crashing of the falling spars, above the booming of the guns, he fancied that his fathers voice came faintly to him through the scorching air. "I am here, Father. Speak once again," he gasped. A great flash of light fills the air; clouds of smoke shoot quickly upward to the sky and BOOM! Oh, what a terrific sound. Louder than thunder, louder than the roar of all guns. The air quivers: the see itself trembles; the sky is black. The blazing ship is seen no more. There was powder in the hold. CONSCIENCE I wept, I cried so hard. But this tears cant bring back my sister to life. My being brought here by my conscience. I want to ask forgiveness. But can she still hear? O heart, forgive me for what I have done, please bring peace to mind. Dry leaves were crushed down below. As if to freshen my memories that her life perished because of my selfishness. She was my only sister. Since our childhood, I always believed that I was the favorite of our dad. One night, while I was facing all about to the mirror, with my micro mini, I puffed powder, when I saw Luisas face, reflecting in the mirror. "You cant get out tonight, Lucille." I heard a threatening tone from her. I turned to her, but I cant resist at her sharp stare at me. "And who says so, my dear sister?" "We are to celebrate Mommas death anniversary, you know that dont you?" In a relaxed and condescending voice, I replied "well I dont care. Im going out to party tonight!"

Then I heard a knock on the door. I shouted "Help Papa!" for I knew that it was he. I pulled my hair, I tore my dress away as I was attacked by a squad of monstrous creatures. When the door opened the site Papa saw was that Luisa was holding my neck who was trying to make a rescue. But I cried so hard that made Papa grew to the height of anger. He threw Luisa to the corner, where the head of my poor sister was hit at the edge of the chair. I slowly rejoiced for I have made a successful revenge. But when she lifted, I saw a different sparkle in her tearful eyes. "Ha ha ha ha ha!" O my, Luisa, she went out of her mind. I was not able to move, as well as Papa. Both of us were motionless. And before we returned to our senses, Luisa ran to the door and proceeded to the open gate of our house. We followed her calling out her name. "Luisa!" "Sister!" "Luisa" "Sister" "Luisa the Truck!" "Dont cross the road, Luisa, the truck dont Dont DONT!" The next sight I saw was that Luisa was thrown five meters away from the truck. I ran to her and embraced her. Blood was all over her face. In a low but distinct voice she murmured, that made my heart break so much. She said, "Lucille, please be a good girl. I love you. Please be a good girl coz Papa loves you very much." "Luisa? Luisa? Sister sister!!!" From that moment I cried so hard for killing my only sister, who loved and cared for me, even at the last moment of her life. Now can you blame me, for asking God to forgive me? Forgive me dear God, Forgive me! MURDERESS Its already twelve oclock. Oh, God, Im hungry! Ive been running and hiding for almost three days. Im dead tired. I need some rest. But no, they are looking for me! And if they find me, I will be put to jail. But, where can I hide? Leos father is so influential, so powerful. He is the governor of our great province and I happened to kill his son! No, dont accuse me like that! Im not a murderess! Hear me, Im begging you, I tell you Im not a murderess. Audience, let me explain, please. Okay, okay, okay! It all happened in school one day. I went to the library to find a book. Then I found it. I got so engrossed to what I was reading that I almost didnt notice the time. It was gone past six and, oh my! I think I was the only student left in the library. To my dismay, Leo was waiting for me outside. I wanted to hide but it was too late. He was already in front of me. Hi, Brenda! Can I drive you home? I shook my head irritatingly. My God, how I hate him! He often sends me scented love letters in pink stationery which I sent back all unopened. He sends me roses and chocolates, too. They are my favorites. I wanted so much to eat the chocolates, but I hate the person who gave them. So I throw them into the trash. How could I ever get away from this guy? Hey, Leo, wait a minute! If you want to drive me home, thanks, but no thanks! Im old enough to go home on my own, okay? So, please stop following me like a dog! And besides, Im too young for love and I dont accept any suitors, understand? But, Brenda, I love you! Cant you understand? I can give you anything you want. Say it and youll have it. And, Brenda, remember, I can get everything I want by hook or crook. So youd better be good to me or else. Ha ha ha! And he started laughing like a monster. I got so scared. I know how powerful his family was, but I still insisted, Leo, how can you be such a jerk? I dont like you and I dont love you. In fact, I hate you! Now, will you leave me alone? But instead of leaving, do you know what he did? He pushed me so hard against the wall and started kissing me. I was shouting for help, but no, no one was there! Somebody, help me, please! Please, please! Help! Help! Then he gave me a big, big punch on my stomach. Oh my God! It was painful! But even before he reached for me again, I spotted a rusty knife and grabbed it. Now, Mr. Leo Monteverde, try to kiss me again, attempt to rape me again, and I will never ever forgive you! Go to hell! Um um ummm! I didnt know how many times I pushed the rusty knife in his body. Then I noticed something. Blood, blood theres a blood on my hands!

Leo, Leo! Oh, God! I killed Leo! No, Im not a murderess! He was going to rape me and I just defended myself. I didnt mean to do it, Im not a murderess! Im not a murderess! But I killed Leo! I killed him! Im a murderess! Ha! Ha! Im a murderess! Ha! Ha! Ha! THE COLLAR I struck the board, and cried, no more. I will abroad. What? Shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Loose as the wind, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me blood, and not restore What I have lost with cordial fruit? Sure there was wine Before my sighs did dry it: there was corn Before my tears did drown it. Is the year only lost to me? Have I no bays to crown it? No flowers, no garlands gay? All blasted? All wasted? Not so, my heart: but there is fruit, And thou hast hands. Recover all thy sigh-blown age On double pleasures: leave thy cold dispute Of what is fit, and not. Forsake thy cage, thy rope of sands, Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee Good cable, to enforce and draw, And be thy law, While thou didst wink and wouldst not see. Away; take heed, I will abroad. Call in thy deaths head there: tie up thy fears. He that forbears To suit and serve his need, Deserves his load. But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild At every word, Me thoughts I heard one calling, child: And I replied, my Lord.

LORD, MAKE A REGULAR MAN OUT OF ME This I would like to be braver and bolder, Just a bit wiser because I am older, Just a bit kinder to those I may meet, Just a bit manlier taking defeat; This for the New Year my wish and my pleas Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be just a bit finer, More of a smiler and less of a whiner, Just a bit quicker to stretch out my hand Helping another whos struggling to stand, This is my prayer for the New Year to be, Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be just a bit fairer, Just a bit better, and just a bit squarer, Not quite so ready to censure and lame, Quicker to help everyman in the game, Not quite so eager mens failing to see, Lord, make a regular man out of me. This I would like to be just a bit truer, Less of the wisher and more of the doer, Broader and bigger, more willing to give, Living and helping my neighbor to live! This is for the New Year my prayer and my plea Lord, make a regular man out of me. THEIR ONLY SON Youre a hell of a cow-man, you are! You, and your yaller shoes! How would you look a-straddle of a Roman-nosed cayuse ! Where would you be in a round-up, or a mix with the Greasers, say ? Where is the boy I loved the feller I sent away? He had some style about him! He was a boy! All through ! But he went away to college and the college has sent back you ! I should have brung you a go-cart, not a real hoss to ride ! I reckon youre Gods rebuke for me totin too damn much pride. For I was plumb proud of you- I grieved when you went away; I couldnt say half the things I had in my heart to say; And-What is that thing youre wearin? A wrist watch! Holy cats! And what are them white things on you? What is it you call em, spats . And why are your pants so tight? And why dont they reach your shoes ? Gee ! But you would play hell on the back of a wild cayuse ! And when your poor mother sees you-Climb onto your hoss and ride ! Dont you see the town-folks lookin ? Come on an lets get outside ! If wed a-stayed there much longer someone would have laughed, and then Id had to have started something I couldnt undo again; For you are my son-God help me! and no one may laugh at you And not have your father call him. This place we are comin to Is where that there young school teacher was caught by that Greaser bandOh, well, we wont talk about that. I reckon you cant understand How a real he-man gets feelin-Hold up! What is that ahead?

Its the same band! Ridin for us! God! Look at em ride and spread! Your hoss hasnt had no rider-hes fresh as he started out! Dont ever take time to look when you get him turned about, But ride him like hell to town, and get out the posse quick. Tell them to make the river and head off the band! Ill stick. My hoss couldnt make the distance ahead of that rush no howAnd I never turned back on a Greaser! And I aint beginnin now! When its safe and the fight is over, come back where I am, and by The Greasers Ive sent to hell youll see how a man can die. Tell your mother I thought about her-And give him the spurs and ride! Dont you see them cut tin around us? Oh, God! With a he-man Id Go through em like hell a-poppin! Go on! Make your get-away! Whats that you are sayin to me? Made up your mind to stay? You have ? Shoot your hoss then! Shoot him! Here! Let me ! Thats the how! Thats it, get down behind him! Now for my own hoss! Now! Whats that you are handlin that way, and boldin so tight- my son?

That one of them automatics? Ive beard of that kind of gun! I wonder if you can use it-Hi-golly! You got that cuss ! I wish that your ma could see us! You bet shed be proud of us! Im strong for the old six-gun, son-Sho! That went a little high! I guess they have got your father-feels like a broken thighYou got that ones hoss that time! And I got the rider dead! Say! We will go ridin bell-ward with half of that band ahead! And if your poor ma could see us-You got im! You got im! She When they have found us I reckon will be proud of her boy and me! Whats that? We aint got em running? The posse! And just in time! I reckon theyll have to tote me; I aint in no shape to climb On a hoss; but, son, ride by me, Im proud of the way you done! And your mother will be proud of you. The lord bas give us a son! And if the spats you are wearin and the pants you have on suit you Im for em! From bell to breakfast! And Im for the wrist watch too ! And the boys thats riding for us bas got to outfit like that, With spats and skin-tight britches, and wrist-watch and dinky hat!

THE CHAMPION In the vast expanse of a timeless place Where Silence ruled the outer space Ominously towering it stood The symbol of a spirit war Between the one named Lucifer, and the Morningstar, the ultimate of good. Enveloped by a trillion planets Clean as lightning, and hard as granite A cosmic coliseum would host the end, Of the war between the lord of sin and death And the omnipotent creator of mans first breath Who will decide, who forever will be.. The audience for the fight of the ages was assembled and in place. The angels came in splendor from a star. The saints that had gone before were there, Jeremiah, Enoch, Job. They were singing the song of Zion on Davids harp. The demons arived, offensive and vile, cursing and blaspheming God Followed by their trophies dead and gone. Hitler, Napoleon, Pharoh, Capone, tormented, vexed, and grieved And waiting for their judgment from the throne. Then a chill swept through the mammoth crowd And the demons squealed with glee As a sorid, vulgar, repulsive essence was felt. Arrogantly prancing, hands held high, draped in a sparkling shroud, Trolled by demons, Satan ascended from Hell. Then Satan cringed, the sinners groaned, the demons reeled in pain As as swell of power like silent thunder rolled. With a surge of light beyond intense illuminating the universe, In resplendent glory appeared the Son of God. Then a persona, yes, extraordinaire appeared in center ring. God the Father will oversee the duel. Opening the Book of Life, each grand stand hushed in awe As majestically he said, Now, heres the rules: Hell be wounded for their transgressions, bruised for iniquities. When he said, By His stripes theyre healed, the devil shook. He said, Sickness is my specialty I hate that healing junk. God said, You shut your face I wrote the book. Then the Father looked at His only son and said, You know the rules. Your blood will cleanse their sin and calm their fears.

Then he pointed His finger at Satan and said, And I know you know the rules, Youve been twisting them to deceive my people for years. Satan cried, Ill kill you Christ! You will never win this fight. The demons wheezed, Thats right, there aint no way. Satan jeered, Youre dead meat Jesus, Im gonna bust you up tonight. Jesus said, Go ahead, make my day! The bell, the crowd, the fight was on, and the Devil leaped in fury. With all his evil tricks he came undone. He threw his jabs of hate and lust, a stab of pride and envy, But the hands that knew no sin blocked every one. Forty days and nights they fought and Satan couldnt touch Him. Now the final blow saved for the final round. Prophetically Christs hands came down and Satan struck in vengeance. The blow of death fell Jesus to the ground. The devils roared in victory, the saints shocked and perplexed As wounds appeared upon His hands and feet. The Satan kicked Him in His side and blood and water flowed And they waited for the ten count of defeat. God the Father turned His head. His tears announcing Christ was dead.

The ten count would proclaim the battles end. The Satan trembled through his sweat in unexpected horror yet, As God started the count by saying, 10 Hey wait a minute God, 9 Stop, youre counting wrong, 8 His eyes are moving 7 His fingers are twitching 6 Wheres all this light coming from 5 Hes alive 4 Oh no 32 Oh yes He has won! He has won! Hes alive forevermore, He is risen, He is Lord. He has won! He has won! Hes alive forevermore, He has risen, He is Lord. Proclaim the news in every tongue, through endless ages and beyond. Let it be voiced from mountains loud and strong, Captivity has been set free, salvation bought for you and me, Cause Satan is defeated and Jesus is THE CHAMPION!

OH CAPTAIN, MY CAPTAIN Oh Captain my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But Oh heart! heart! heart! Oh the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. Oh Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise upfor you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, Youve fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchored safe and sound, its voyage closed and done; From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult Oh shores, and ring Oh bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY? Version 1 He stood at the bar of justice; creature wan and wild, in form too small for a man, in feature too old for a child, but he stood so worn and pathetic -- 'twas stamped on his pale young face. It seemed long years of sufferings must have left a silent trace. "I will tell you just how it was, sir. My father and mother are dead, and my little brothers and sisters were hungry and asked me for bread. At first I earned it for them by working hard all day, but somehow the times were hard, sir, and the work fell all away. I could get no more employment. The weather was bitter cold and the young ones cried and shivered; little Johnny's but four years old.

So, what was I to do, sir? I'm guilty, but not condemned. I got, oh was it stealing the bread to give to them?" Every man in the courtroom greybeard, and thoughtless youth knew as they looked upon him that the prisoner spoke the truth. Out from their pockets came kerchiefs, out from their eyes sprang tears; and out from the old faded wallets treasures hoarded for years. "Your name?" said the judge as he eyed him with kindly look at kin: "Is... Mark McGuire, if you please, sir". "And your age" "I'm turned fifteen." "Well, Mark", and then from a paper he slowly and gravely read, "You are charged here, I am sorry to say it, with stealing three loaves of bread. You look not like an offender and I hope that you will show the charge of stealing three loaves of bread to be false. Now tell me are you guilty of this or no?". A passionate burst of weeping was at first his sole reply; and he dried his tears in a moment then looked at the judge's eyes. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------Version 2 He stood at the bar of Justice, A creature, wan and wild, In form too small for a man, In features too old for a child. For a look so worn and pathetic Was stamped on his pale young face, It seemed long years of suffering Must have left that silent trace. Your name, said the judge, as he eyed him with a kindly look, yet keen. Is Mark McGuire, if you please, sir. And your age? I am fifteen. Well, Mark, and then from a paper He slowly and gravely read You are charged here I am sorry to say it with stealing three loaves of bread. You took not like an old offender, And I hope that you can show the charge to be false. Now tell me, Are you guilty of this, or not? A passionate burst of weeping Was at first his sole reply; But he dried her tears in a moment, And looked in the judges eyes. I will tell you just how it was, sir My father and mother are dead, And my little brothers and sisters were hungry And asked me for bread. At first, I earned it for them By working hard all day. But somehow the times were hard, sir, and the work all fell away. I could get no more employment, The weather was bitter cold; The young ones cried and shivered So what was I to do, sir? I am guilty, but do not condemn; I took O! was it stealing? The bread to give to them. Every man in the courtroom, Graybeard and thoughless youth Knew, as they looked upon him, That the prisoner spoke the truth, Out from their pockets came kerchiefs, Out from old, faded wallets Treasures hoarded for years. The judges face was a study, The strangest you ever saw, As he cleared his throat and murmured Something about the law. For one so learned in such matters, So wise in dealing with men He seemed, on a simple question Sorely puzzled just then. No one blamed him, or wondered When at last these words they heard The sentence of this young prisoner is for the present deferred. And no one blamed him or wondered When he went to him and smiled And tenderly left from the courtroom Himself, the guilty child!

I DEMAND DEATH My hands are wet with blood. They are crimsoned with the blood of a man I have just killed. I have come here today to confess. I have committed murder, deliberate, premeditated murder. I have killed a man in cold blood. That man is my master. I am here not to ask for pity but for justice. Simple, elementary justice. I am a tenant My father was a tenant before me and so was his father before him. This misery is my inheritance and perhaps this will be my legacy to my children. I have labored on a patch of land not mine. But I have learned to love that land, for it is the only thing that lies between me and complete destitution. It is the only world that I have learned to cherish. And somewhere on that land I have managed to build what is now the dilapidated nipa shack that has been home to me.

I have but a few world possessions, mostly rags. My debts are heavy. They are sum total of my ignorance and the inspired arithmetic of my master, which I do not understand. I labor like a slave and out of the fruits of that labor I get but a mere pittance for a share. And I have to stretch that mere pittance to keep myself and my family alive. My poverty has reduced me to the bare necessities of life. And the constant fear of rejection from the land has made me totally subservient to my master. You tell me that under the constitution, I am a free man-free to do what I believe is just, free to do what I think is right, and free to worship God according to the dictate of my conscience. But I do not understand the meaning of all these for I have never known freedom. I have always obeyed the wishes of my master out of fear. I have always regarded myself as no better than a slave to the man who owns the land on which I live. I do not ask you to forgive me nor to mitigate my crime. I have taken the law into my own hands, and I must pay for it in atonement. But kill this system. Kill this system and you kill despotism. Kill this system and you kill slavery. Kill this despotism and you set the human soul to liberty and freedom. Kill this slavery and you release the human spirit into happiness and contentment. For the cause of human liberty, of human happiness and contentment, thousands and even millions have died and will continue to die. Mine is only one life. Take me if you must but let it be a sacrifice to the cause which countless others have been given before and will be given again and again, until the oppressive economic system has completely perished, until the sons of toil have been liberated from enslavement, and until man has been fully restored to decency and self respect. You tell me of the right to life and liberty and the pursuit of happiness. But I have known no rights, only obligations; I have known no happiness; only despair in the encumbered existence that has always been my lot. My dear friend, I am a peace-loving citizen. I have nothing but love for my fellowmen. And yet, why did I kill this man? It is because he was the symbol of an economic system which has made him and me what we are: He, a master, and I, a slave. Out of a deliberate design I killed him because I could no longer stand this life of constant fear and being a servant. I could no longer suffer the thought of being perpetually a slave. I committed the murder as an abject lesson. I want to blow that spelled the death of my master to be a death blow to the institution of the economic slavery which shamelessly exists in the bright sunlight of freedom that is guaranteed by the constitution to every man. My dear friend: I do anguish from the weak and helpless and has laid upon the back of the ignorant labor burdens that are too heavy to be borne, I demand death! To this callous system of exploitation that has tightened the fetters of perpetual bondage in the hands of thousands, and has killed the spirit of freedom in the hearts of men, I demand death. To this oppression that has denied liberty to the free and unbounded children of God, I DEMAND DEATH! THE RICH MAN AND THE POOR MAN Food and money I give to you, Why do you shout so mercily When I give you your part? queried the rich man. The poor man replied: Your question you cannot answer For from pain and agony you are free, But I have suffered and borne The situation that I dont like to be in. That I couldnt understand Because Life for me is easy; I take this and take that, And life is just what I want it to be. consented the rich man. Comfort your mind, rich man, with realities of death. Your wealth I do not envy For you can not buy eternity with money. If to live happily is to live in hypocrisy, Then I prefer to be silly so I would be holy. Life you love so much you will lose And only then will you understand What agony is, the poor man shouted. Ha! Ha! Ha! You say so For you desire this place of mine. Indulgence you have clouded with reason But I understand because of your situation. boastfully the rich man said. Outraged the poor man answered: How pitiful the person blinded with pleasure; No, you dont care of our journey That you have created through your greediness. Come now, man of weak soul! Your days are numbered for you to face The Man of Love. You may not cry now but later you will When the chilling reality of the last judgment Comes across your way; Yes, then you will pity, but not for me. Not for anybody else. But for yourself only! Yes, eat, drink, and be merry.

For tomorrow you shall die! THE FACE UPON THE FLOOR Twas a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there, Which well-nigh filled Joes barroom, on the corner of the square; And as songs and witty stories Came through the open door, A vagabond crept slowly in and posed upon the floor. "Where did it come from?" someone said. "The wind has blown it in." "What does it want?" another cried. "Some whiskey, or rum or gin?" "Here, Toby, sic em, if your stomachs equal to the work I wouldnt touch him with a fork, hes filthy as a Turk." This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace; In fact, he smiled as tho he thought hed struck the proper place. "Come, boys, I know theres kindly hearts among so good a crowd To be in such good company would make a deacon proud. "Give me a drinkthats what I want Im out of funds, you know, When I had cash to treat the gang this hand was never slow. What? You laugh as if you thought this pocket never held a sou; I once was fixed as well, my boys, as any one of you. "There, thanks, thats braced me nicely, God bless you one and all; Next time I pass this good saloon, Ill make another call. Give you a song? No, I cant do that, my singing days are past; My voice is cracked, my throats worn out and my lungs are going fast. "Ill tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too. Say! Give me another whiskey and Ill tell you what Ill do That I was ever a decent man not one of you would think; But I was, some four or five years back. Say, give me another drink. "Fill her up, Joe, I want to put some life into my frame Such little drinks to a bum like me are miserably tame; Five fingers there, thats the scheme and corking whiskey, too. Well, heres luck, boys and landlord my best regards to you. "Youve treated me pretty kindly and Id like to tell you true How I came to be the dirty sot, you see before you now. As I told you, once I was a man, with muscle, frame, and health, And but for a blunder ought to have made, considerable wealth. "I was a painter, not one that daubed on bricks and wood, But an artist, and for my age, was rated pretty good. I worked hard at my canvas and was bidding fair to rise, For gradually I saw the star of fame before my eyes. "I made a picture perhaps youve seen, tis called the Chase of Fame. It brought me fifteen hundred pounds and added to my name, And then I met a woman now comes the funny part With eyes that petrified my brain and sunk into my heart. "Why dont you laugh? tis funny that the vagabond you see Could ever love a woman and expect her love for me; But twas so, and for a month or two, her smiles were freely given, And when her loving lips touched mine, it carried me to Heaven. "Boys, did you ever see a girl for whom your soul youd give, With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live;

VENGEANCE IS NOT OURS, ITS GODS Alms, alms, alms. Spare me a piece of bread. Spare me your mercy. I am a child so young, so thin, and so ragged.Why are you staring at me? With my eyes I cannot see but I know that you are all staring at me. Why are you whispering to one another? Why? Do you know my mother? Do you know my father? Did you know me five years ago? Yes, five years of bitterness have passed. I can still remember the vast happiness mother and I shared with each other. We were very happy indeed. Suddenly, five loud knocks were heard on the door and a deep silence ensued. Did the cruel Nippons discover our peaceful home? Mother ran to Fathers side pleading. Please, Luis, hide in the cellar, there in the cellar where they cannot find you, I pulled my fathers arm but he did not move. It seemed as though his feet were glued to the floor. The door went bang and before us five ugly beasts came barging in. Are you Captain Luis Santos? roared the ugliest of them all. Yes, said my father. You are under arrest, said one of the beasts. They pulled father roughly away from us. Father was not given a chance to bid us goodbye.

We followed them mile after mile. We were hungry and thirsty. We saw group of Japanese eating. Oh, how our mouths watered seeing the delicious fruits they were eating, Then suddenly, we heard a voice call, Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . . Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . . Consuelo. . . . Oscar. . . . we ran towards the direction of the voice, but it was too late. We saw father hanging on a tree. . . . dead. Oh, it was terrible. He had been badly beaten before he died. . . . and I cried vengeance, vengeance, vengeance! Everything went black. The next thing I knew I was nursing my poor invalid mother. One day, we heard the church bell ringing ding-dong, ding-dong! It was a sign for us to find a shelter in our hide-out, but I could not leave my invalid mother, I tried to show her the way to the hide-out. Suddenly, bombs started falling; airplanes were roaring overhead, canyons were firing from everywhere. Boom, boom, boom, boom! Mother was hit. Her legs were shattered into pieces. I took her gently in my arms and cried, Ill have vengeance, vengeance! No, Oscar. Vengeance, its Gods, said mother. But I cried out vengeance. I was like a pent-up volcano. Vengeance is mine not the Lords. No, Oscar. Vengeance is not ours, its Gods these were the words from my mother before she died. Mother was dead and I was blind. Vengeance is not ours? To forgive is divine but vengeance is sweeter. That was five years ago, five years. . . . Alms, alms, alms. Spare me a piece of bread. Spare me your mercy. I am a child so young, so thin, and so ragged. Vengeance is not ours, its Gods. . . . Its. . . . Gods. . Its JUVENILE DELINQUENT Am I a juvenile delinquent? Im a teenager, Im young, young at heart in mind. In this position, Im carefree, I enjoy doing nothing but to drink the wine of pleasure. I seldom go to school, nobody cares!. But instead you can see me roaming around. Standing at the nearby canto (street). Or else standing beside a jukebox stand playing the nerve tickling bugaloo.Those are the reasons, why people, you branded me delinquent, a juvenile delinquent. My parents ignored me, my teachers sneered at me and my friends, they neglected me. One night I asked my mother to teach me how to appreciate the values in life. Would you care what she told me? "Stop bothering me! Cant you see? I had to dress up for my mahjong session, some other time my child". I turned to my father to console me, but, what a wonderful thing he told me. "Child, heres 500 bucks, get it and enjou yourself, go and ask your teachers that question". And in school, I heard nothing but the echoes of the voices of my teachers torturing me with these words. "Why waste your time in studying, you cant even divide 100 by 5! Go home and plant sweet potatoes". I may have the looks of Audrey Hepburn, the calmly voice of Nathalie Cole. But thats not what you can see in me. Heres a young girl who needs counsel to enlighten her way and guidance to strenghten her life into contentment. Honorable judge, friends and teachersis this the girl whom you commented a juvenile delinquent?. AM I TO BE BLAMED Theyre chasing me, theyre chasing, no they must not catch me, I have enough money now, yes enough for my starving mother and brothers. Please let me go, let me go home before you imprisoned me. Very well, officers? take me to your headquarters. Good morning captain! no captain, you are mistaken, I was once a good girl, just like the rest of you here. Just like any of your daughters. But time was, when I was reared in slums. But we lived honestly, we lived honestly in life. My, father, mother, brothers, sisters and I. But then, poverty enters the portals of our home. My father became jobless, my mother got ill. The small savings that my mother had kept for our expenses were spent. All for our daily needs and her needed medicine. One night, my father went out, telling us that he would come back in a few minutes with plenty of foods and money, but that was the last time I saw him. He went with another woman. If only I could lay my hands on his neck I would wring it without pain until he breaths no more. If you were in my place, youll do it, wont you Captain? What? you wont still believe in me?. Come and Ill show you a dilapidated shanty by a railroad. Mother, mother Im home, mother? mother?!. There Captain, see my dead mother. Captain? there are tears in your eyes? now pack this stolen money and return it to the owner. What good would this do to my mother now? shes already gone! Do you hear me? shes already gone. Am I to be blamed for the things I have done? THE DEATH PENALTY Gentlemen of the Jury, if there is a culprit here, it is not my son, it is myself, it is I! I, who for these twenty-five years have opposed capital punishment, have contented for the inviolability of human life, have committed this

crime for which my son is now arraigned. Here I denounce myself, Mr. Advocate General! I have committed it under all aggravated circumstances deliberately, repeatedly, and tenaciously. Yes, this old and absurd lextalionix this law of blood for blood I have combated all my life all my life, Gentlemen of the Jury! And while I have breath, I will continue to combat it, by all my efforts as a writer, by all my words and all my votes as a legislator! I declare it before the crucifix; before that victim of the penalty of death, who sees and hears us; before that gibbet, to which, two thousand years ago, for the eternal instruction of the generations the human law nailed the Divine! In all that my son has written on the subject of capital punishment and for writing and publishing that for which he is now on trial, in all that he has written, he has merely proclaimed the sentiments with which, from his infancy, I have inspired him. Gentlemen, Jurors, the right to criticize a law, and to criticize it severely especially a penal is placed beside the duty of amelioration, like the torch beside the work under the artisans hand. The right of the journalist is a sacred, as necessary, as the right of the legislator. What are the circumstances? A man, a convict, a sentenced wretch, is dragged, on a certain morning, to one of our public squares. There he finds the scaffold! He shudders. He struggles. He refuses to die. The victim clings to the scaffold, and shrieks for pardon. His clothes are torn, his shoulders bloody still he resists. They drag him forth, haggard, bloody, weeping, pleading howling for life calling upon God, calling upon his father and mother, For like a very child had this man become in the prospect of death they drag him forth to execution. He is hoisted on the scaffold, and his head falls! .And then through every conscience runs a shoulder. Never had legal murder appeared with an aspect so indecent, so abominable. All feel jointly implicated in the deed it is at this very moment that from a young mans breast escapes a cry, wrung from his very heart a cry of pity and anguish a cry of horror a cry of humanity. And this cry would punish! And in the face of the appalling facts which I have narrated, you would say to the guillotine, Thou art right! and to Pity, saintly Pity, Thou art wrong! Gentlemen of the Jury, it cannot be! Gentlemen, I have finished.