University of Virginia Library

WHY

I do not write to please but, in writing the truth, hope to please. A single fact is worth a shipload of argument. It hurts us to admit facts. Truth is usually disagreeable and unpleasant but it is the truth just the same. If my language is strong, it is not from a desire to depart from the landmark of polite literature but simply to drive the truth home. If you think the statement of some of the facts are horrible, think how much more horrible is the reality and how essential that something should be done.

Shrewer, the great German artist, once painted a chimney sweep. You wouldn't allow the chimney sweep in your back yard but so perfect was the drawing that A. T. Stewart of New York gave him 40,000 for it. Kraust, the great animal painter of Russia, drew an old mule, just a common mule eating hay, then right beside it he drew the comical side of that mule with his ears way above the tree tops with chickens roosting on them. That old mule on the market would hardly draw 35.00, but so perfect was the work that the national museum gave him 37,000 for it. That's what art will do.

Dickens went down in the low, dirty slums of London, got those filthy characters, put them in book form, and now we sit down in our parlor and read the work of Dickens, and most of our schools adopt it as literature.

Shakespeare went among the criminal class of Europe, selected the darkest crimes of the continent, and today we rush out to see Shakespeare's plays. But it was not that old chimney sweep, nor the old mule, nor the slum characters, nor the criminals of Europe, but it was the truth painted on canvas and the truth written in book form. When you find men like Shrewer and Kraust who can paint the truth and men like Shakespeare and Dickens who can write the truth, there is nothing that can upset them. Some may ask, why speak of

these things; why shock the modesty of the blushing lass or check the career of the boundless youth; why not dwell upon things more pleasing to the eye and appetite of this generation?

As well might you ask, “Why give the alarm when the house in which you are sleeping is on fire? Why cry aloud when the ship on which you are sailing has sprung a leak? Why wave the red flag when the train on which you are riding is rushing on to destruction?” Have you ever stopped to think of the sanctity of our homes, the sacredness of our schools and churches and society, and how immorality, like a canker worm, is eating out the very foundations of these divine institutions? Then ask me not why, everything of account in the world has to be cared for and protected. We work nine months to plant, cultivate, and gather a garden crop while weeds and dog fennel sown by accident and cultivated by chance will grow on the common highway, and the weeds, if neglected on the street side of the fence, will soon be growing in the garden. In fighting the child's battle, who cannot fight for himself, our work is never over. We are using this world for a playground instead of a schoolroom. We are making life a holiday instead of a workshop. We are keeping time and step with the music instead of the world facts and events.

We have not yet reached that stage in life where we can appreciate genuine manhood and depreciate its defects. We endorse crime by supporting criminals and encouraging dirt by supporting dirty men. The church no longer shrieks the important “thou shalt not” to certain evils, but simply points out the way and says, “be careful,” and a little later on they say, “it's too bad,” or “such is life.” Break the ten commandments, break all the rules of the church and decent society, but get that almighty dollar and pay your church dues and you are in good standing with the church and society. Because sin dresses well, looks nice, and acts so, it is not recognized as sin but is welcomed into the church and home, then we sit and sigh and often wonder why the rising generation is not any better. We need to be educated half way 'round the globe till

we can cease to look upon that as the greatest good which is of the least importance.

As you read this book, remember that I am fighting the child's battle, who cannot fight for himself. Children are malleable; grown-ups are immalleable. As this generation is made up of folks with habits fixed for life, I am transferring my effects toward the interest of the next generation.

If I can drop a thought, advance an idea, or do an act that will benefit the next generation, I will feel repaid.

Germany and Japan, the worst enemies to Christian civilization, started forty years ago to train their children for the conflict just ended.

Let us constantly ask ourselves the question, “Is the child safe?”

[These children make a thoughtless dash]

LET ME LIVE—

LOVE THE CHILDREN—

Love the children,
Never doubt them.
Build a wall
Of love about them.
Love the children
And remember,
May is not like
Cold December.
Love the children,
Just as He did,
Who so nobly,
Humbly pleaded,
“Suffer them to
Come unto Me,
Forbid them not,”
Pleaded He.
But I've always
Loved the jewel,
Always the thought
That it was cruel
To effect their
Youthful beauty.
It has been a lifetime duty.
Love the children,
Never doubt them.
Build a wall of
Love about them.

PHYLLIS WHEATLEY—

Phyllis Wheatley, a naked, savage child,
Then a slave for twelve long years;
Then a scholar, poetess, then national fame.
Then immortal in the woman's sphere.

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE—

That grand and noble woman dear,
Called Harriet Beecher Stowe:
The book she wrote without a fear
Drove slavery from our shore.
To know her words, to feel her worth,
To read that noble book,
And see what dauntless words she spoke,
What fearful risks she took.

EARTHLY ANGELS—

FACTS—

Do You Know That—

Deep in each artist's soul some picture lies
That he will never paint for mortal eyes?
And every author in his heart doth hold
Some sad, sweet tale that he will leave untold?

Besides That—

There are poems unwritten and songs unsung
Sweeter than any that ever was heard;
Poems that will wait for an angel's tongue,
Songs that wait for a paradise bird.

And Then—

I don't believe that a song is sung
But the singer's heart sings sweeter.
I don't believe a rhyme can be rung
But the thought surpasses the meter.
I don't believe that a painter's stroke
Can draw what the heart to conscience spoke.

But My Friends—

The kind of man for you and me
Faces the world unflinchingly
And smites, as long as wrong resists,
With knuckled faith and force-like fists.
He lives the life he is preaching of,
And loves where most there is need of love.
And feeling still, with a faith half clad,
That the bad are as good as the good are bad,
He strikes right out for the right, and he
Is the kind of a man for you and me.
If you can't take a stand for right,
And hold your own in the thickest fight,
And in that way prevent human strife,
Stay off the frontier of public life!

TWO CHILDREN—

WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?—

As you travel along life's highway,
Are you going up or down?
Or are you simply standing still,
And going 'round and 'round?
Are you helping move the wheel
Of human progress up and on?
If not, are you of service or as
Obstruction to the throng?
If you've never helped a brother
With his struggles and his strife,
If you've never made another
Have a happier time in life,
If you've never been consoling
To the weary, sick and worn,
Of what service are you
In this lovely land of morn?
If you've never made a comrade
Feel the world's a better place
Because you've lived within it
And had served it with a grace?
If you've never heard a woman
Or a little child proclaim
A blessing on your doings,
You're a poor hand at the game.
If you've never made the pathway
Of some neighbor glow with sun,
If you've never dropped a bubble
To some youngster's heart with fun,
If you've never cheered a toiler
That you've helped to get along—
Won't you tell me what you're here for
In this lovely land of song?
If you see a woman smoking,
Drinking, wallowing in the gutter,
Detrimental to posterity,
Especially one who's a mother,
Have you the moral courage
To induce her to come up,
Or do you fear the hissing crowd?
If so, you are corrupt.
If you should see a helpless child
Just going to destruction,
And it's within your power
To move the main obstruction
Would you remove that stumbling block
To save the children's pride?
Or would you rather have the world's applause?
If so, go off and hide!
Man conquered the sea and land
And now has grasped the air;
He concentrates them to his will
But not for man's welfare.
He uses all research of science
To perfect hellish wars,
To butcher his fellowman
And annihilate God's cause.
Man travels far above the clouds,
With silvery airplane bright.
He challenges the eagle and
O'ertakes him in his flight.
But those are but man's trifles,
Man's victories in speed;
While justice, peace and liberty
Are still the world's great needs.
Man paints his own pictures,
Man prints his own books,
But his blood doesn't circulate
By his own whines and hooks.
Our God gave man his limit—
So far and no farther;
He knows man would use it
For his own earthly barter.
Should Japan reach her final goal
To unite all darker races,
To present a solid phalanx front
To heal all past disgraces,
And when she asks us Americans,
“Friends, what have you to offer?”
We'll gasp like some dumb, driven beast
And Japan would be the scoffer.
The cause of education
Once had as its great goal
The education of the heart,
The head, the hand, the soul;
But now it's concentrating
All its forces in the feet,
And “Look up, lift up,” has no voice,
The underworld has beat.
The grand old church once lowered its gap
In compromise with the world,
And now she's torn all fences down
And joined in with the twirl.
The devil, he's just tickled;
How he sears the hearts of men,
How he rules the entire nation
With his wicked, lustful sin.
Are you denouncing all that's wrong
And advocating right,
To teach our youth to “Look up, lift up,”
Give the world more light?
Can you be sympathetic
When the human heart throb sighs?
If not, why don't you step aside
And let the world go by?
Oh! when that general roll is called,
What's going to be your answer
When Peter asks what you've opposed
And what things you have sanctioned?
And as you view those pearly gates
And those bright mansions of mirth,
Conscience will put the question—
What's your record while on earth?

RETRIBUTION—

WOMAN—

THE NEW WOMAN—

The woman are wearing britches now;
You can't tell one from the other.
She's tumbled down from her lofty throne
To man, down in the gutter.
There she's smoking, drinking, gambling,
The world stands aghast, chagrined,
The human race is turning backward,
And is on the downward trend.
The winding circle of cigar's smoke
Doesn't measure the height of manhood's yoke,
Nor can a filthy cigarette butt
Elevate a woman out of the rut.
Woman, who's upheld the moral code
During all the centuries past,
Has turned things topsy turvy,
And the world stands by aghast.
The child is born from a cigarette body,
Its first caresses from a lip soaked tardy.
As goes woman, so go morals.
Where is the race to get its laurels?
Oh! If I had a voice, a persuasive voice,
I'd penetrate the heart of woman
And show her how this moral world
Is hanging now upon her omen.
O woman, have you any heart,
And did you ever sigh?
And did your senses ever start
At the future's wailing cry?
O woman, won't you help us
To pray to your Almighty God
To help remove this stumbling block
Ere we it all absorb?
O woman, just for childhood's sake
With one good hearty throb,
Won't you help us pray one prayer
To your Almighty God?
O God! give us a little faith,
And into this darkness
That's getting deeper every day,
Oh, send a light of rest!
All hopes deal with the future, Lord,
We hope for better days,
And while we're drifting down the tide,
Show us the right way.
Laurels of this world are sweet,
But they soon pass away.
The child's laurels are dark right now.
Can't we brighten the forthcoming days?

HUMAN DRIFTWOOD—

MRS. C. E. STEPHENS—

(Retired school teacher after three score years of service.)

“DELINQUENCY”

Home, the sanctuary of life,
That stamps impressions for life,
Who is the center of attraction there?
It is the mother, the wife.

RACIAL FACTS

The blood-chilling horrors of Hitler
And his hellish degradation
Is all we have in history
To match this lynching civilization.

EVERLASTING FACTS

If I could, as an artist,
Draw a slaughter pen for children,
I'd show to brutal Hitler
How he dump'd them there by the million.

FILIBUSTERING—

This filibustering nonsense
In the nation's senate hall
Is simply one more step
To the nation's final fall.
All those unhappy phrases
They should try to set aright
Are dwelt upon with mighty force
To make as dark as night.
A just investigation
To show the brighter side
Is never made by those who strive
Forever to deride.
The Negro's moral standard
Sir, has never been as low
As those destructive lynchers'
Hearts who never strive to know
Whether it was a crime or not.
They're simply satisfied
To pass their own weak judgment,
They crave the Negro's hide.
There's no clan in America
Whose moral pathway's filled
With thorns as is the Negro's
And he must tread at will.
America's Christianity's
Not recognized by Him
Who came to earth to die for man
And give him Christian trim.
Her body's broken by disease,
Her conscience seared with crime;
A mind and soul of cruelty
To cap the heathen climes.
And in the light of all these things,
It is a poor spirit
To point with Christian horror
But never try to prohibit.
Ah! What a reckless nation,
What an undisciplined child,
Noble, but something tricky,
Doing some things that are wild.
O white man! have you any heart?
And did you ever sigh?
And did your senses ever start
By the Negro's wailing cry?

AMERICA'S DISGRACE

THE DEVIL ABDICATED—

I read somewhere in a worn-out book
About a traveling rebel
Who went about in every nook
To bring men to his level.
And everything he undertook
Was filled with glee and revel.
His road was filled with snares and crooks,
I think his name was Devil.
He was once cast out of heaven,
Down into the darkest hole,
But the nations longed for him,
Called him back into their fold.
He went into the Garden of Eden,
Despoiled Paradise, you know;
Then started on his mission
With his Devil-face aglow.
He has stalked across the nations,
In every land and sea,
And ever since creation,
He has had his timely plea.
Sometimes nations, sometimes empires
Have been kneeling at his shrine,
But his individual efforts
Are as old and long as time.
Finding America very prosperous
He put whiskey in the land
To wreck our homes, to shorten life,
To kill the spiritual man.
He auctioned off the brightest hopes
Of the nation's young manhood.
He dulled the conscience of the race
So everything looked good.
The women struggling forty years
Brought temperance to its goal.
Then Satan's agent, with one stroke,
Knocked all their efforts cold.
He made them discard discipline
From our homes, our schools, our churches,
And produced a generation
With its morals all on crutches.
Old Satan, he's just tickled
How he sways the hearts of men,
How he ruled the entire nation
With his wicked, lustful sin.
Having America under good control
With the underworld on top,
He left in search of other fields
To cultivate his crop.
He stepped across the ocean
To see Herr Hitler's doings,
He saw human degradation,
Centuries of civilization ruined,
He saw Finland mutilated
And proud Poland massacred,
The Czechs humiliated,
Norway swallowed—greed!
He saw Belgium torn to pieces,
The Netherlands terrorized,
Poor helpless Spain was ravished,
Women and children crucified.
He saw the handwriting on the wall
Which read to this effect:
“The little nations have no rights
That Hitler must respect.”
He saw gay French society
Busy manicuring their toes
While Hitler was preparing
Proud France to overthrow.
He saw all avenues of science
Once worked for man's welfare,
Have now been concentrated
To bring on this despair.
All the sights that he'd ever seen
Since the dawn of first creation,
Before his mind began to gleam
And cause his soul's stagnation.
The horrors of Siberia
Against the thriving Jew,
Mob violence in China
Dissented from his view.
The blood-chilling horrors of slavery,
The damnable lynching bee
All faded from his memory
At Hitler's massacre.
During all this civil tirade
He slaughtered innocent children,
He butchered helpless women,
Yes, he mowed them down by millions.
The savage of the lowest type
In war, would butcher men,
But never slaughtered children,
He considered that a sin!
The Indian looking for human scalp
Would skin the men alive,
Denied God, disputed the Bible,
But never skinned a woman—
He had some savage pride.
It remained for cruel dictators
Of highly civilized nations
To slaughter women and children,
Thus degrading civilization.
The thoughts of Rome on fire
While Nero played the fiddle
Were very insignificant
To Hitler's wicked riddles.
Hitler—archipelago of Europe,
Dardanelles of civilization.
A rogue of international fame—
Stealing land and mobbing nations—
Runs rampant like a giant brute
In little peaceful lands,
Threatening the very way of life—
Monstrous perversion of man.
He punished the ears for hearing,
Shut mouths and padlocked minds,
Blinded the eyes against the light,
Burned books that right would chime,
Degraded individual human right,
Destroyed all search of truth,
Then built concentration camps
To assassinate our youths!
He auctioned off the brightest hopes
Of all humanity's wooings,
Turned back humanitarian clocks
From upward to downward doings.
He blasphemed all the decencies
Of civilization's ties,
Lied, pillaged, dehumanized.
The monstrous product of many wrongs
And of soul-destroying hatred,
Producer of unspeakable horrors
That cannot be related.
Scientists, artists, men of letters
Beaten to death in the street—
Driven from homes—for what?
Wouldn't worship at Hitler's feet.
Men were dragged to death holes
Known as detention camps—
Shot down by ruthless, brutal beasts
For refusing Hitler's vamp.
Then Satan said, “If Sherman could
Peep back at Hitler's spell,
He'd cry aloud, ‘I've changed my mind,
War's ten times worse than Hell.’”
Then Satan said, with tearful eyes,
“This civilized disgrace
Induces me to abdicate,
Let Hitler take my place—
I'm going back to Hell for peace,
Don't call me back to earth
Till Hitler's brutal force has ceased
And the world has been rebirthed.”
Then Satan said, “I seem to hear
Long distance radio
Pronounce the glad news to the world
That Hitler is no more.
If that is true, I'll change my mind,
What shall I do?—Oh, well,
It's a settled fact, if Hitler's gone,
We both can't live in Hell!

O MOTHERS!—

Inspired by your daughter's beauty and youth,
Surround her with all the fragments of truth,
For we're drawn by those who us surround,
Till little of our native self is found,
And it's from the scenes 'mid which we're placed
That deep affect's on our being traced.
Her character'll be judged by her associates,
With whom she mingles, she'll participate.
Teach her that flesh and a suit of clothes
Looks nice, but it's not the best that grows,
For under that suit can be man or hog
And it's best to consider his dialogue.
And teach her that it's not in a dress parade
That womanhood is at her best displayed.
Teach her that it's not the ballroom sport
Who is the defender of life's stronghold.
They are nice and polite and give a good time,
But to life's deeper meanings they are blind.
They mix with those who are degrading,
And scorn those who are elevating.
Teach her to ponder early and late
Over the human ballroom's fate.

“THE NEW AMERICA”—

BOULE—