“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!

“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 who’s 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 men’s 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.
 The Torch of Life
There’s 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 it’s not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season’s fame,
But his captain’s 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 gatling’s jammed and the colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England’s 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!”

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 Mary’s 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
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.

It Is Raining
It is raining.
Where would you like to be in the rain?
Where would you like to be?
I’d 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.

That’s where I’d like to be in the rain

That’s where I’d like to be.

It is raining.
Where would you like to be in the rain?
Where would you like to be?
I’d 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.
That’s where I’d like to be in the rain.
That’s where I’d like to be.

It is raining.
Where would you like to be in the rain?
Where would you like to be?
I’d like to be on a ship at sea
Where everything’s wet as can be
And the waves are rolling high
Where sailors are pulling the ropes and singing
And winds in the rigging and salt’s sprays stinging
And round us sea gulls cry
On a dipping, skimming ship at sea.
That’s where I’d like to be in the rain.
That’s where I’d like to be.

“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 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 Oh shores, and ring Oh bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

Project
in
English
Submitted by:
Jay-ann P. Guimbuayan