Newspaper History

Category: The Washington Herald

  • The Prisoner

    From The Washington Herald, April 20, 1914. By John Kendrick Bangs.

    I keep a special cell for pain
    Here in my brain
    And there,
    Dark days or fair,
    I let it lie forgotten and alone
    To feed on its own moan;
    And then, when all its power to sting is gone,
    I open the door of memory again
    And let it pass along the road
    To some less chill abode;
    And strange to say,
    Sometimes when poor old pain has gone away,
    I find, long after his retreat,
    The later memory of him is sweet,
    And in my soul a greater strength appears
    For that I once in days that were
    Held Pain a Prisoner.

  • The Better Way

    From The Washington Herald, February 26, 1914. By John Kendrick Bangs.

    I had a phrase in mind today
        So sharp I really can’t convey it.
    I laughed and laughed for hours away
        To think how sorely ‘twould dismay
    My foe, and then I’m glad to say
        Decided that I wouldn’t say it!

  • Head and Heart

    From The Washington Herald, December 19, 1913. By John Kendrick Bangs.

    When Heart says “Do,” and Head says “Don’t,”
    And Bill’s inclined to say “I won’t!”
    It may be wrong to follow Heart
    And from the paths of Head depart,
    But all the same I’ve heard much song
    On roads wise Head hath branded wrong,
    And sooner found the light that’s true
    On byways Heart hath brought to view!

  • The Red Cross Nurse

    From The Washington Herald, December 11, 1913. By Emma Frances Lee Smith.

    I have turned aside from the world and its pride
        The strength of my love to prove;
    I have set my pace to a wonderful race,
        With feet that are swift to move—
    Be it soon or late—to serve, or to wait—
        At the cry of the terrified.

    Through flood and flame, in the Master’s name,
        Comfort and help I bring;
    My mission blest is to offer rest
        And peace, to the suffering;
    I give no heed to rank or to creed;
        I look not askance at shame.

    On the wreck-strewn trail of the howling gale,
        I hasten with warmth and cheer;
    O’er the shrouded head of the mangled dead,
        I bend with a pitying tear;
    To famine’s white lip my cup I slip;
        I quiet the mourner’s wail.

    In the wake of the knell of hurtling shell,
        The clangor of crashing steel,
    My watch I keep where the wounded sleep,
        And the dead lie heel to heel;
    I speed the soul to its happy goal—
        A tireless sentinel.

    From East to West on my merciful quest,
        I follow the Red Cross far;
    Under Southern skies I have seen it rise;
        It glows ‘neath the Northern star;
    Its crimson sign is a badge divine,
        Mid the panoply of war.

  • As to Pining

    From The Washington Herald, November 14, 1913. By John Kendrick Bangs.

    The English tongue sometimes, I fear
    Would strike a man from Mars as queer.
    For instance, when some people say,
    “’Tis sad to see one pine away,”
    They do not know the kind of pine
    That gladdens so this soul of mine.
    When I observe it front the ill
    Of winter with its bitter chill,
    Its green persistent in the face
    Of every blast that comes from space;
    Its head held high against the sky
    Whatever tempest passes by;
    And ‘mid the blizzards as serene
    As in the summer, soft and green.
    It simply pines, and pines away,
    And gathers strength day after day;
    And stands erect whatever may be
    And takes what comes unflinchingly.
    How wondrous fine ‘twould be, I say,
    If folks would only “pine” that way!

  • The One to Blame

    From The Washington Herald, September 23, 1913. 

    When there’s a dreadful railroad wreck,
        Or accidents appear,
    Officials nearly break a neck
        To pinch the engineer.

    The engineer, he went to sleep,
        The havoc was immense.
    Of course we hold resentment deep,
        But some day we’ll get sense.

    We’ll pinch the railroad’s ruler then
        And have him put away;
    The jolly chap who makes his men
        Work eighteen hours a day.

  • Hot Weather

    From The Washington Herald, July 24, 1913.

    I pick the paper up and see
        That matters are acute.
    It’s 98 at Kankakee,
        And 99 at Butte.

    It’s torrid up at Devil’s Lake;
        Hot in Quebec, we learn.
    The cities fairly seem to bake
        Wherever we may turn.

    I pick the paper up and see
        From Oshkosh to Fort Worth,
    That forty cities claim to be
        The hottest upon earth.

  • Human Experience

    From The Washington Herald, July 19, 1913. By John A. Joyce.

    In the morning of life
    I was filled with ambition
    To roam o’er the world
        And see sights afar;
    But somehow in age
    I am prone to contrition
    At missing the splendors
        That shone in my star.

    Many friends came around me
    In moments of pleasure,
    Who drank at my banquet
        And laughed at my wit.
    Yet when they had found
    That I lost all my treasure
    They left me in sorrow
        And silence to sit.

    The voice of the crowd
    As it rung in my praises
    Awakened a joy
        I imagined would last.
    But, alas, my ambition
    Lies under the daisies
    And the wrecks of my glory
        Are strewn in the past!

  • A Black Man’s Appeal

    From The Washington Herald, July 13, 1913. By Walter H. Brooks, D. D., pastor of the Nineteenth Street Baptist Church, Washington, DC.

     By a “Christian People” hated,
     By these “Christians” robbed, outraged.
 We are outcasts in the nation—
     Weeping, praying, not enraged.
 
 Christless “Christians,” O the pity!
     Men who glory in their might,
 Strong to crush the weaker peoples,
     Blind to every sense of right.
 
 With their lips this nation honors
     Christ as teacher, Savior, Lord;
 What a mockery in splendor
     While their deeds with hell accord.
 
 Have the shepherds all forgotten,
     “Vengeance to our God belongs?”
 Did he not requite this people
     For past centuries of wrongs?
 
 O ye statesmen, save your people;
     Stay the madness of their hate,
 Lest the God of vengeance, rising,
     Bring them to a direr fate.
 
 Let the other nations teach you.
     Spain has lost a Western world;
 Where her standard proudly floated,
     Not a flag is now unfurled.
 
 England, too, unjust and cruel,
     Lost what now you boast with pride,
 And your ships of war, majestic,
     Every sea and ocean ride.
 
 Are you stronger than the Romans
     Who made all the world their own?
 Where are now the mighty Caesars?
     Pomp, and power, and lands are gone.
 
 Yes, the pride of ancient nations
     One by one has passed away.
 O ye statesmen, patriots, hear me:
     Stay our country’s final day.
 
 Laugh? They laughed and scorned the prophets
     Who foretold the Pharaohs’ fall,
 Proud Philistia’s kings derided,
     Hebrew monarchs, Assyrians, all.
 
 But their kingdoms, empires perished;
     Ancient ruins mark their states.
 God of nations, rise, defend us
     From this people’s galling hate.
 
 Guard our names from grossest slanders,
     Forged by men who hate the race;
 All the wrongs we bear, remember,
     Lighten every heart and face.
 
 Then though men and living demons
     Burn, and kill, and rob, and lie,
 We will brook our lot and conquer,
     Filled with power from on high.

  • My Friend

    From The Washington Herald, June 22, 1913.
 

 I am the best pal I ever had
     I like to be with me.
 I like to sit and tell myself
     Things confidentially.
 
 I often sit and ask me
     If I shouldn’t or I should,
 And I find that my advice to me
     Is always pretty good.
 
 I never got acquainted with
     Myself till here of late,
 And I find myself a bully chum
     I treat me simply great.
 
 I talk with me and walk with me
     And show me right and wrong.
 I never knew how well myself
     And me could get along.
 
 I never try to cheat me
     I’m as truthful as can be.
 No matter what may come and go
     I’m on the square with me.
 
 It’s great to know yourself and have
     A pal that’s all your own,
 To be such company for yourself
     You’re never left alone.
 
 You’ll try to dodge the masses
     And you’ll find a crowd’s a joke,
 If you only treat yourself as well
     As you treat other folk.
 
 I’ve made a study of myself
     Compared me with a lot,
 And I’ve finally concluded
     I’m the best friend I’ve got.
 
 Just get together with yourself
     And trust yourself with you.
 You’ll be surprised how well yourself
     Will like you if you do.