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 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, and no hope Dirty Hands By John P. Delaney S.J Im proud of my dirty hands. Yes, they are dirty. And they are rough and knobby and calloused. And Im proud of the dirt and the knobs and the callousness. I didnt get them that way by playing bridge or drinking afternoon tea out of dainty cups, or playing the welladvertised Good Samaritan at charity balls. I got them that way by working with them, and Im proud of the work and the dirt. Why shouldnt I feel proud does the work they do these dirty hands of mine? My hands are the hands of plumbers, of truck drivers and street cleaners; of carpenters; engineers, machinists and workers in steel. They are not pretty hands; they are dirty and knobby and calloused. But they are strong hands; hands that make so much that the world must have or die. Someday, I think, the world should go down on its knees and kiss all the dirty hands of the working world, as in the days long past, armored knights would kiss the hands of ladies fair. Im proud of my dirty hands. The world has kissed such hands. The world will always kiss such hands. Men and women put reverent lips to the hands of Him who held the hammer and the saw and the plane. His werent pretty hands either when they chopped trees, dragged rough lumber, or wielded carpenters tools. They were workingmans hands strong, capable proud hands. And werent pretty hands when the executioners got through them.

They were torn right clean through by ugly nails, and the blood was running from them, and the edges of the wounds were rewind dirty and swollen; and the joints were crooked and the fingers were horribly bent in a mute appeal for love. They werent pretty hands then, but, O God, they were beautiful those hands of the Savior. Im proud of those dirty hands, hands of my Savior, hands of God. And Im proud of my hands too, dirty hands, like the hands of my Savior, the Hands of my God

The Two Standards-by Horace de la Costa, S.J Life is Warfare: a warfare between two standards: the Standard of Christ and the Standard of Satan. It is warfare older than the world, for it began with the revolt of the angels. It is a warfare wide as the world; it rages in every nation, every city, in the heart of every man. Satan desires all men to come under his Standard, and to this endures them with riches, honors, power, all that ministers to the lust and pride of man. Christ on the contrary, invites all to fight under His Standard. But He offers no worldly allurement; only Himself. Only Jesus; only the Son of Man; born an outcast, raised in poverty, rejected as a teacher, betrayed by His friend, crucified as a criminal. And therefore His followers shall not be confounded forever; they are certain of ultimate victory; against them, the gates of Hell cannot Jewels of the Pauper by Horacio de la Costa, S.J. There is a thought that comes to me sometimes as I sit by my window in the evening, listening to the young mens guitars, and watching the shadows deepen on the long shills, the hills of my native land. You know, we are a remarkably poor people; poor not only in material goods, but even in the riches of the spirit. I doubt we can claim to possess a truly national literature. No Shakespeare, no Cervantes has yet been born among us to touch with immortality that which is in our landscape, in our customs, in our story, that which is most original, most ourselves. If we must give currency to our thoughts, we are focused to mint them in the coinage of a foreign tongue; for we do not even have a common language. But poor as we are, we yet have something. This pauper among the nations of the earth hides two jewels in her rages. One of them is our music. We are sundered one from another by eightyseven dialects; we are one people when we sing. The kundimans of Bulacan awaken an answering chord of lutes of Leyte. Somewhere in the rugged north, a peasant woman croons her child to sleep; and the Visayan listening remembers the crane fields of his childhood, and his mother singing the self-made song. We are again one people when we pray. This is our other treasure; our Faith. It gives somehow, to our little uneventful days, a kind of splendor; as though they had been touched by a king. And did you ever notice how they are always mingling, our religion and our music? All the basic rite of human life the harvest and the seedtime, the wedding, birth and death are among us drenched with the fragrance and the coolness of music. These are the bonds that bind us together; these

are the souls that make us one. And as long as there remains in these islands one mother to sing Nanas lullaby, one boat to put out to sea with the immemorial rowing song, one priest to stand at the altar and offer God to God, the nation may be conquered, trampled upon, enslaved, but it cannot perish. Like the sun that dies every evening it will rise again from the dead.

Shylocks Defense by William Shakespeare (from The Merchant of Venice Act III, Scene I, lines 43-61)To bait fish withal: if it feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me, and hindered me half a million, laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies; and what's his reason? I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions? fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrongs a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge! If a Christian wrongs a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge! The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death by Patrick Henry I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry has been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, Sir, deceive us. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our

remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation? There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free-- if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending--if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained--we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us! They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are no tweak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable--and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come. It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace-- but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death! way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in towing back our love? Let us not deceive