A martyr's death fulfills the Filipinos. His life, His compatriots, His family.

Never to be forgotten in the

timeframe of wisdom. Dance not to the Marcha de Cadiz. But cheer to the Rizalista regime. Rizal! Rizal!
Rizal! Born unproportionately, Yet intellectually. His being still stands As mysterious as the aswang.
Ibarra jumps to oblivion. As Damaso embraces the hatred. Noli Me Tangere, Españoles! Thy epiphany of
colonialism, Is the cancer of society. Manifestation of heroism. lies in the fate of multilingualism. and
unbelievable polymathy. Philippines cry in vain. as she was tortured by Spain. Revolt not with La
Solidaridad. But with La Liga Filipina, yes. Passion of nationalism Weakens his girlfriend's trusts. Oh!
VIVA FILIPINAS! "Come back, gentle hours, I yearn! Come back as the birds return, At the budding of the
flowers!" So, he says in Recuerdo A Mi Pueblo First inspiration of poetry. Die for your country, Not for
your lust. Laong Laan spared the way As he ends up in Bagumbayan. Ole! Simoun! Springing out from
darkness, Seeing opacity without mercy Busted in El Filibusterismo And not reigning from the good The
Motherland broke the chains Created by spanish freaks. Ideas enlightened the Philippines as unity
destroys the frailocracy Without mercy! Without GOODNESS! Patriótico valor! Innocence ruled him
against Dark pens and papers. Demons of justice

Mi Ultimo Adios! "Farewell to you all, from my soul torn away, Friends of my childhood in the home
dispossessed! Give thanks that I rest from the wearisome day! Farewell to thee, too, sweet friend, that
lightened my way; Beloved creatures all, farewell! In death there is rest!" Tribute to Jose Rizal William B.
Lewis The Ambassador of Filipino Music, Art and Dances "A man who never quits is never defeated!"
Tagumpay! Sweet are the hours in one's own Native Land, All there is friendly o'er which the sun shines
above; Vivifying is the breeze that wafts over her fields; Even death is gratifying and more tender is love.
Ardent kissed on a mother's lips are at play, On her lap, upon the infant child's awakening, The extended
arms do seek her neck to entwine, And the eyes at each other's glimpse are smiling. It is sweet to die in
one's own Native Land, All there is friendly o'er which the sun shines above; And deathly is the breeze
for one without A country, without a mother and without love. Mary, sweet peace, solace dear Of
pained mortal ! You're the fount Whence emanates the stream of succor, That without cease our soil
fructifies. From thy throne, from heaven high, Kindly hear my sorrowful cry! And may thy shining veil
protect My voice that rises with rapid flight. Thou art my Mother, Mary, pure; Thou'll be the fortress of
my life; Thou'll be my guide on this angry sea. If ferociously vice pursues me, If in my pains death
harasses me, Help me, and drive away my woes!