Question:

famous declamation pieces speech

by Guest10886268  |  2 years, 5 month(s) ago

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where can i find elementary english declamation pieces?

 Tags: declamation, famous, pieces, speech

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  1. Guest24928151

    hla uio!! kagamay vah sa imo declimation y smrry dnha e!11! eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhh  ssssssssshoooorrrt  ppppparrrraggggrappppphhhhhhhhhhhhh                     and .........,,,,,,,,,thats///////.......,,,ooooolll tnnnnkkkkk  uuuuu  mua mua  zhup zhup 

     

  2. Guest23943491

     way pulus na website

  3. Mitchel

    Declamation piece for elementary students are not some speech topics, they in reality are poems written for elementary students. There are number of different types of poems. "The Owl and the Pussycat" and "O Captain! My Captain!" are the two poems found in Declamation piece for elementary . These are easy to understand poems written in a way children can pick their ideas.

  4. Guest23001678

     http://www.scribd.com/doc/36830178/Declamation-Piece

    -Navy-

  5. Guest22936272

     fuc* u all..........

  6. Guest22846551

     sorry  i dont like your declamation IM SO SORRY................................

  7. Guest22809855

    <p>...anu ba yan ang dami,,panu mo yan ngawa?</p>

  8. Guest22809855

    ...anu ba yan ang dami,,panu mo yan ngawa?

  9. Guest22560075

     hello

     

  10. Guest22276768

     wow wow nice i think

     

  11. Guest22244594

     where we will get that?

     

  12. Guest22134293

     lol

  13. Guest22102976

    dont flatter me you b***h

  14. Guest21822234

    kataas sad ana oi.............hehehehe?????kapoy kau og basa............. how many days na nimo gbuhat????????????

  15. Guest21680769

    HEHEH NAA Y BISYA

  16. Guest21672811

     unsa man na uie...

    nangita ta ug declamation pieces wla pud...

    bugo man ning site uie...

    para sa unsa man ni?

  17. Guest21627442

    who knows the declamatio "youths accountability to society"?..can you please give me a copy of it??....tnx..^_^

  18. Guest20995985
    Vengeance is Not ours It's Gods
  19. Guest20868719
    iyottttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt!!!!! nangita tag answer wal pud!!!!!!!!!!!!!! bogokkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!! aang nag buhat anih nah web site
  20. Guest20868297
    prodigal daughter
  21. Guest20795256
    drama???
  22. Guest20585372
    nothing!!!!!!!
  23. Guest20317853
    declamation piece about a scientist
  24. Guest20247713
    i was a drug addict
  25. Guest20105580
    hello why is it so bad.. your declamations are so bad, you make me sick.. i only like BAD GIRL Declamation
  26. Guest20009418
    where can i get the declamation piece "the frustrated bride"? kindly help me.. please!
  27. Guest19865573
    aq dn nghhap......
  28. Guest19723989
    I hate reciting declamations..CoZ I'm sHy..JEJEJE
  29. Guest19679157
    in you brain!!!!!!!!!!!
  30. Guest19289250
    BLA BLA BLA BLA BLA BLA BLA BLA....
  31. Guest17066326
    BAD GIRL Hey! Every Body seems to be staring at me.. You! You! All of you! How dare you to stare at me? Why? Is it because I’m a bad girl? A bad girl I am, A good for nothing teen ager, a problem child? That’s what you call me! I smoke. I drink. I gamble at my young tender age. I lie. I cheat, and I could even kill, if I have too. Yes, I’m a bad girl, but where are my parents? You! You! You are my good parents? My good elder brother & sister in this society were I live? Look…look at me…What have you done to me? You have pampered and spoiled me, neglected me when I needed you most! In trusted me to a yaya, whose intelligent was much lower than mine! While you go about your parties, your meetings and gambling sessions… Thus… I drifted away from you! Longing for a fathers love, yearning for a mothers care! As I grow up, everything change! You too have change! You spent more time in your pokers, mahjong tables, bars and night clubs. You even landed on the headline of the news paper as crook, peddlers and racketeers. Now, you call my name; accuse me in everything I do to myself? Tell me! How good you are? If you really wish to ensure my future Then hurry….hurry back home! Where I await you, because I need you… Protect me from all evil influences that will threaten at my very own understanding… But if I am bad, really bad…then, you’ve got to help me! Help me! Oh please…Help me! Taken For Granted “Christians? Christians?” Have you heard that call? They’re looking for me. That’s definitely me. You’re in doubt and Why? You want me to give you proofs? Oh! That’s very easy. Who told you to doubt that I am a Christian? I am a Christian! How? I went to church. I pray. I have my religion. I read the Bible. I love kids and I am giving them what they want. I sing gospel songs. Now you’re telling me that you are in doubt? How dare you to question me? Can’t you see? Or Are you blind? I am the true definition of a Christian. You’re so pathetic; you don’t have the right to question me that way. What?! You want to ask me more?!… I’ll think about it for a second. Hmhm… Ok! I’m sure I’ll be able to answer all your questions fluently. Go… Ask me…. You’re asking me if I go to church every Sunday?! I told you… I GO TO CHURCH… ahmm b-bu-but not every Sunday. Every other Sunday I guess that’s fine with the Lord. Why?! I-I-I have a project every other Sunday. Yes r-r-right, I have a project. The Lord understands that. Liar?! I’m not a liar. I’m telling you the truth in fact I went to church last three Sundays straight and Oh my Gosh Cris is in the stage he’s starting to play the guitar. Ooops I slip! Ok fine. I went to church three times straight without absent b-because of Cris. He’s cute, he’s talented. And I’m still there for the Lord. Liar? I’m not a liar. I am still a Christian. It so happen that I don’t have any projects that Sunday. Ahhh! Fake?! I’m not a fake Christian; at least I go to church. Don’t shout! Ahhh! I said I’m not a fake Christian, I-I-I pray… every other day. At least I pray. No! I said I am a true Christian I read the Bible. I open it… Every time the Pastor is telling me to do so. Ok stop. Why do we need to argue? I guess I really don’t know what Christianity is? Ok! I go to church not because of Christ but because of Chris! I’m sleeping every time there is a sermon because I only love the music. I don’t read my Bible because I guess that’s boring. I sing… “Jesus, I surrender I draw nearer, I fall down” but the truth I’m not sincere with that. But I guess my works will be credited in his name. I share my blessings to the poor, i give gifts every Sunday and I have a religion I guess that works…I don’t know. Right, Ephesians 2: 8-9 was right. It is not by works that I will be saved because Jesus is the only way. And I am so wrong I don’t even mind his sacrifices on the cross. I am supposed to be there because those are my sins. I forgot my purpose here on earth; you know what, he’s been good to me. But I always take him for granted. I’m doing things not for his glory but for my own. I should live for him because he died for me. I’m so ashamed now. But Lord you still forgave me. You’re so good. And you brought me to my knees. Now I’m talking and standing in front of you and I don’t care if you are going to laugh at me. I care to tell you things that I believe I must tell you. He won everything in me and he’s been waiting for you too… If you believe you have him, you may now shout what Carman once wrote “Jesus is the Champion”.
  32. Guest17038378
    forgive me
  33. Guest16157898
    pwede lain? balik balik lang amn oie!!! boring!!!
  34. Guest15948806
    its so long maybe you should post a declamation that are for teens and made it clear.. plsss tnx
  35. Guest15071724
    YOU CAN see it on takdangaralin.com and on lewispoetry.com by the way im ERicka A.
  36. Guest14220735
    a glass of cold water
  37. Guest13954738
    i kill him because i love him
  38. Guest13716659
    i killed him because i love him
  39. Guest13697374
    guity or not guilty
  40. Guest13571756
    what is declamation???
  41. Guest13273880
    yes i am guilty
  42. Guest13219446
    vPkdG
  43. Guest12778454
    you're committing plagiarism. you're stealing someone's work. you didn't even wrote there the source for credit.
  44. Guest12459377
    Thanks a lot Guest11037547 !.. :)
  45. Guest12122848
    i need to find one emediatly HELP!!!!!
  46. Guest11911409
    yes i am guilty
  47. Guest11649079
    dico
  48. Guest11578002
    health is wealth
  49. Guest11385272
    way with you
  50. Guest11181367
    William Shakespeare - Friends, Romans, countrymen (from Julius Caesar 3/2) Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Caesar was ambitious: If it were so, it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answer'd it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest - For Brutus is an honourable man; So are they all, all honourable men - Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill: Did this in Caesar seem ambitious? When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept: Ambition should be made of sterner stuff: Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honourable man. You all did see that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown, Which he did thrice refuse: was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honourable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I do know. You all did love him once, not without cause: What cause withholds you then, to mourn for him? O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason. Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar, And I must pause till it come back to me.
  51. Guest11037547
    Desiderata by Max Ehrmann 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. Ring Out, Wild Bells by Alfred Lord Tennyson 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. 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 Hood 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 c**k 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!" If... by Rudyard Kipling 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 wornout tools: If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never 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 Champion by Carman 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 man's 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 David's 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 h**l. 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, here's the rules: He'll be wounded for their transgressions, bruised for iniquities." When he said, "By His stripes they're 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, You've been twisting them to deceive my people for years." Satan cried, "I'll kill you Christ! You will never win this fight." The demons wheezed, "That's right, there ain't no way." Satan jeered, "You're dead meat Jesus, I'm 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 couldn't touch Him. Now the final blow saved for the final round. Prophetically Christ's 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 battle's 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, you're counting wrong, "...8..." His eyes are moving... "...7..." His fingers are twitching... "...6..." Where's all this light coming from... "...5..." He's alive "...4..." Oh no... "...3...2..." Oh yes He has won! He has won! He's alive forevermore, He is risen, He is Lord. He has won! He has won! He's alive forevermore, He has risen, He is Lord. Proclain 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! O Captain My Captain by Walt Whitman O 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 O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up--for 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, You've 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 O shores, and ring O bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. The Face Upon the Floor by Hugh Antoine D'Arcy 'Twas a balmy summer evening and a goodly crowd was there, Which well-nigh filled Joe's 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 stomach's equal to the work-- I wouldn't touch him with a fork, he's filthy as a Turk." This badinage the poor wretch took with stoical good grace; In fact, he smiled as tho' he thought he'd struck the proper place. "Come, boys, I know there's kindly hearts among so good a crowd-- To be in such good company would make a deacon proud. "Give me a drink--that's what I want... I'm 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, that's braced me nicely, God bless you one and all; Next time I pass this good saloon, I'll make another call. Give you a song? No, I can't do that, my singing days are past; My voice is cracked, my throat's worn out and my lungs are going fast. "I'll tell you a funny story, and a fact, I promise, too. Say! Give me another whiskey and I'll tell you what I'll 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, that's the scheme... and corking whiskey, too. Well, here's luck, boys and landlord... my best regards to you. "You've treated me pretty kindly and I'd 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 you've 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 don't 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 you'd give, With a form like the Milo Venus, too beautiful to live; With eyes that would beat the Koh-i-noor and a wealth of chestnut hair? If so, 'twas she, for there never was, another half so fair. "I was working on a portrait, one afternoon in May, Of a fair-haired boy, a friend of mine, who lived across the way. And Madeline admired it and much to my surprise, Said she'd like to know the man, that had such dreamy eyes. "It didn't take long to know him and before the month had flown My friend had stole my darling, and I was left alone; And ere a year of misery had passed above my head, The jewel I had treasured so had tarnished and was dead. That's why I took to drink, boys. why, I never see you smile, I thought you'd be amused and laughing all the while. Why, what's the matter, friend?... there's a tear-drop in your eye, Come, laugh like me 'tis only babes and women that should cry. "Say, boys, if you give me just another whiskey I'll be glad, And I'll draw right here a picture of the face that drove me mad. Give me that piece of chalk with which you mark the baseball score You shall see the lovely Madeline upon the barroom floor." Another drink, and with chalk in hand, the vagabond began To sketch a face that well might buy, the soul of any man. Then, as he placed another lock upon the shapely head, With a fearful shriek, he leaped and fell across the picture... dead! 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 don’t like to be in.” “That I couldn’t 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 don’t 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 Man with a Hoe by Edwin Markham 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 h**l 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-- 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? "AM I TO BE BLAMED?" They're chasing me, they're 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, you'll do it, won't you Captain? What? you won't still believe in me?. Come and I'll show you a dilapidated shanty by a railroad. Mother, mother I'm 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? she's already gone! Do you hear me? she's already gone. Am I to be blamed for the things I have done? "JUVENILE DELINQUENT" Am I a juvenile delinquent? I'm a teenager, I'm young, young at heart in mind. In this position, I'm 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! Can't 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, here's 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 can't 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 that's not what you can see in me. Here's a young girl who needs counsel to enlighten her way and guidance to strenghten her life into contentment. Honorable judge, friends and teachers...is this the girl whom you commented a juvenile delinquent?. Ring Out, Wild Bells by Alfred Lord Tennyson 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. 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 Hood 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 c**k 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!" Guilty or Not Guilty Anonymous He stood at the bar of justice; creature wan and wirld, 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, adn teh 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 eyars 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 graybeard, and thoughtless youth knew as they looked upon him that hte 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 wiht 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 htis 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. ** I feel it is a bit short of drama if you end here, so perhaps you can add more lines for the boy and perhaps the last line can be... "Sir, I ask you, am I guilty or not guilty?" Casablanca Anonymous There was a great battle at sea. Once could hear nothing but hte roars of the big guns. The air was filled with black smoke. The waster was strewn with broken masts and pieces of tmiber, which the canon balls had knocked from the ships. Many men had been killed, and many more had been wounded. The flagship had taken frire. Teh flames ewere 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 hte captain's 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 father's 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 leapin gup 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. "O Father," he cried, "may I not go now? The men have all lef thte ship. Is it not the time that we, too, should leave it?" He did not knwo 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, Fahter," he cried, "I cannot hear what you say". Above the roaring of hte flames, above hte crashing of the fallin gspars, above the booming of the guns, he fancied that his father's voice came faitnly to him through the scorching air. "I am hre, Father. Speak once again," he gasped. A great flasho 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 gusn. The air quivers: the see itself trembles; the sky is black. The blazing ship is seen no more. There was powder in the hold
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