Build Me A Son by General Douglas MacArthur

BUILD ME A SON
BY General Douglas MacArthur

Build me a son, O Lord, who will be strong enough to face himself when he is afraid; one who will be proud and unbending in honesty, and humble and gentle in victory.
Lead him, O Lord, not in the path of ease and comfort but under the stress and spur of difficulties and challenges.
Here let him learn how to stand up to the storm; here let him learn compassion for whose who fail.
Build me a son whose heart will be clear; whose goal will be high. One who will reach for the future, yet never forget the past.
Give him humility, so that he may always remember the simplicity of true greatness, the open mind of true wisdom and meekness of true strength.
Then, I, his father, will dare to whisper, “I have not lived in vain.”

Page XV from Be Creative! by Febe Chen

The Charge of Light Brigade

This is the poem that i used to mention before..

Half a league,
half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Charge for the guns!" he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!
"Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army,
while All the world wonder'd:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made,
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson