University of Virginia Library

You have asked me to write a poem,
I suppose on the way the world's going;
Naturally you'd expect me, without any guile,
To speak in defense of the helpless child.
The child with a doll and toys that rattle,
The child not able to fight its own battles,
The child that mother's neglecting today,
And school teacher's 'lowing its morals to sway,
The child the church doesn't take in accord,
'Cause the preacher is busy after worldly rewards,
The child that's today being led by the hand,
But tomorrow its service will be in demand.
Could Douglass and Lincoln step back to earth
And catch a glimpse of our present mirth,
They'd hang their heads in blushing shame
Uttering “Our blood was shed in vain.”
According to every indication,
We sadly need re-emancipation.
Emancipation from the traits and twirls
That resemble the life of the underworld.
The frivolous, giddy and silly today
Have put real life in deep dismay.
Society is driftwood on the sea
Moved by the wave of the wicked glee.
And this little town has gone plum wild
Over the vulgar dance in all its beguile.
Today it's a part of our education
As well as the depth of degradation.
You've seen a restless horse in a prance:
That's this town in its vicious dance.
The dance itself may not be so bad,
But its avenue to wreckage is sad.
Today life's a hop, a skip and a jump
From the dancing den to the human dump
It's been a downfall and a curse
To millions, and is growing worse.
'Twas the life of the giddy Hottentots
And the Indians in their war-hoop hops.
Intelligent people in those days
Found amusement in much higher ways.
They used to dance to keep in style,
But now they're dancing by the mile.
They used to dance till near midnight,
But now they dance till broad daylight.
They dance all day, they dance all night,
Till dancing has become a fright.
In order to dance the church into hell
They start on Sunday night at twelve.
But the most disgusting thing of all—
They now give Sunday morning balls.
They've taken the sacred Easter name
And danced it into disgraceful shame.
If Christ'd come here in search of bread,
They'd dance the thorns down on His head,
And as the blood'd ooze down His face,
They'd dance on in their wild disgrace.
And if He'd ask “Why all of this?”
They'd give Him a twentieth-century hiss.
They've danced till when they go to church,
They have a headache—being still so much.
They've danced the church into disrepute
And dare the preacher to refute.
They've danced the preacher into gambling dens,
And now when they preach—there are no sins.
They've danced the church and Sunday schools
To the muddy summer swimming pools.
They've danced the young people's Sunday meet
Out to the road house all complete.
They've danced around the fireside
Until the home has lost its pride.
They've danced our homes into gambling dens,
And whoopee joints for women and men.
The child's disturbed in its midnight slumbers
By shuffling cards and ball room plunder.
And instead of rising 'midst morning prayers
It's picking up rubbish from all-night affairs.
The child learns to handle a deck of cards
Before it learns the name of God.
And ere a child learns to walk erect,
It knows all the jazz of disrespect.
Before a child gets into its teens,
It's in these halls with dancing fiends.
If you ask the mother, “Why such a fate?”
“I want my child to be up-to-date.”
Up-to-date with the underworld,
And a disgrace to all life's finer pearls.
They've danced all our secret orders
Out of existence—ask the recorders.
They've danced their dresses up to their knees.
They've danced until they have no sleeves.
And if you'd promise not to scoff,
Some of 'em'd dance their dresses off.
They've danced pink stockings up to their waists,
All visible, but it's no disgrace.
They've danced until, well, I suppose,
They think it useless to be in clothes.
They've danced to the half a garment age
Like the heart and freak of the old stone age.
And this is morality and self respect!
O God! bring the stone age back on deck.
They've danced until the opposite sex
For genuine woman has no respect.
They've danced till even womankind
Has caused her self respect to decline.
They've danced till they have no respect
For things that are of high effect.
They've danced all modesty to the rear,
And give to character a wicked jeer.
All slang and low profanity
Is the real life blood of humanity.
They've danced away from modern care
Into a world of pits and snares.
And now the town isn't large enough
So they've gone to the woods with the filthy stuff.
They've danced till dance halls lost their charm
And now they dance through the woods till dawn.
A school teacher can ruin a helpless school girl
And go right on teaching as though he's a pearl.
Our so-called leaders will quiet it down,
Notwithstanding they have children in town.
They never stop to think for a while
That that girl is some mother's child.
They've danced our girls into gambling dens.
Into low poolrooms with rankest of men.
They've danced all places of recreation
Into downright, outlaw bootleg stations.
They've danced the bootlegger into success
And got this town into a terrible mess.
To make the country a nation of fools,
They've opened up wicked dancing schools.
They've danced until the dollar rules,
There's no moral suasion in our schools.
These all-night parties, all supreme,
Have danced our girls into cigarette fiends.
And so-called boasted ruby lips
Are sallowed with tainted cigarette tips.
I see that temperance is on the wane
Since woman refuses to abstain.
They've danced modesty so low down
Till conversations are whispering sounds.
School teachers, bootleggers, mothers and gamblers
Are all mixed up in a human scramble.
It's the life of the vicious, the life of the low,
Intelligent people should count for no more.
It was a relic in barbarous marts
In heathen India—among Hottentots.
Cicero styled them as maniac fools,
Socrates and Plato as human cesspools.
They danced proud Rome down to the lowest depths,
And brought Greece down to a prostrate death.
Dissipated the mind, corrupted the heart,
Seared the conscience and wrecked all parts.
They danced till hell with its wicked net
Has made women slaves to cigarettes.
And this, with the club rooms and bootleg drink,
Has placed them in the human garbage sink.
The midnight puffs and the midnight sips
Have taken the ruby from woman's lips;
It has also taken refinement off—
And as to modesty—gives it a scoff.
All this mess is the underworld glow,
It receives its start on the ballroom floor.
And the ballroom gets its sure foundation
From the homelife's wicked recreation.

And now let's quietly count the cost
And see what is one night's gain or loss:
With toes stuck down and heels bent in
And bodies shaped like a string in the wind,
The next day as a firm aspect
They hobble along like a human wreck.
One month's salary for an evening dress,
The next day ruined for want of rest.
With nerves unstrung and heart molested,
Feet cramped up makes blood congested.
Morale depraved and mind deranged,
Tell me, what has been the gain?
What has it added to young womanhood?
To human uplift, what is its good?
Has it inspired anyone to aim high?
To look up, lift up, all wrong defy?
Suppose the Saviour on His second trip
Should find you hugged in a ballroom grip;
With you in your giddy, vicious affair
Would you ask Him to have a seat
And wait till your monkeyshines were complete?
How can you shape the destinies of men
And wallow with them in the rankest of sin?
How can we lift our youngsters up
When we let them dance with the lowest pups?

“She stoops to conquer” will still hold its place
Till the ballroom sinks into disgrace.
Now according to these indications,
Don't we need re-emancipation?