Newspaper History

Tag: Berton Braley

  • Inspiration

    From the Newark Evening Star, May 7, 1915. By Berton Braley.

    Though the world is harsh and the game goes wrong
        And the skies are far from clearing,
    And out of the vast uncaring throng
        There’s never a word that’s cheering;
    Though fortune shun me soon and late,
        And destiny jolt and shove me,
    I’ll keep my nerve and I’ll laugh at fate,
        While I have a friend to love me!

    If I have one friend who is leal and true,
        One friend who will not alter,
    I’ll fight the world and the devil, too,
        And never my heart shall falter.
    Though I know despair and I know defeat
        And the clouds hang black above me,
    I’ll fear no fate that is mine to meet
        While I have a friend to love me!

  • To a Photographer

    From The Birmingham Age Herald, January 5, 1915. By Berton Braley.

    I have known joy and woe and toil and fight;
        I have lived largely, I have dreamed and planned,
        And Time, the Sculptor, with a master hand
    Upon my face has wrought for all men’s sight
    The lines and seams of Life, of growth and blight,
        Of struggle and of service and command;
        And now you show me This—this waxen, bland
    And placid—unlined, untroubled, white!
    This is not I—this fatuous face you show
        Retouched and prettified and smoothed to please.
    Put back the wrinkles and the lines I know,
        I have spent blood and brain achieving these;
    Out of the pain, the sorrow and the wrack,
    They are my scars of battle—Put Them Back!

  • The Pacifier

    From the Newark Evening Star, December 3, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    When I comes home from work at night
        All tired out from minin’ coal,
    An’ black an’ sweaty to the sight
        I ain’t th’ gladdest kind of soul;
    Th’ world don’t make no hit with me,
        I’m mighty weary with my lot,
    An’ every bloomin’ thing I see
        Just seems to feed th’ grouch I’ve got.

    I cusses at my daily work,
        I damn the pitboss to the pit,
    I thinks of all th’ dust an’ murk
        Of minin’—an’ I cusses it;
    I thinks, “Us miners ain’t no men,
        We’re pore dumb beasts that’s hitched and drove;”
    I starts once more to swear—an’ then
        I smells th’ supper on th’ stove!

    It mebbe ain’t so very much
        (A miner ain’t no millionaire),
    But when I scents that stew an’ such
        I—well, I half forgets to swear.
    From worries an’ from troubles, too,
        My thoughts begin to stray an’ rove,
    An’ life assumes a dif’runt hue,
        When I smells supper on th’ stove!

    An’ when they brings that supper in
        An’ wife an’ kids an’ me sets down,
    I finds a sort of pleasant grin
        Has chased away my ugly frown;
    I puts away all thought of strife,
        My appetite I gives the call,
    An’ thinks, “Oh well, this miner’s life
        Ain’t nothin’ awful, after all!”

  • The Lawless Heart

    From The Birmingham Age Herald, November 25, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    Dull trade hath bound me in its grip,
        And never shall I be free,
    Yet I dream of the decks of a pirate ship
        In the roll of the open sea;
    I dream of the pennant dread and black
        That flies at the mast alway,
    As we swoop along on a merchant’s track
        In the sting of the flying spray!

    Oh, I am a law-abiding chap,
        Yet deep in my heart I’d be
    A buccaneer with a scarlet cap
        And a Terror of the Sea;
    As lawless and ruthless a bandit brute
        As history ever knew,
    Roaming the seas in search of loot
        At the head of an evil crew!

    Oh, here at home I am meek and mild,
        A man with a family,
    Yet I dream of deeds that are dark and wild
        And of red, red fights at sea;
    And under my breath I softly hum
        A stave from a pirate song,
    And my throat grows parched for pirate rum,
        For I have been dry so long!

    My life is ordered and shaped and bound
        And kept to its rule and line,
    But my thoughts can wander the whole world round
        And my dreams—my dreams are mine!
        And I hungrily long to be
    A pirate chief on a low, black ship
        In the roll of the open sea!

  • The Ancient Spell

    From the Harrisburg Telegraph, November 3, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    When a ship puts out to sea
        Swinging slowly from the quay,
    Somehow warm enchantment gleams
        From each mast and stack and spar
    As she takes the trail o’ dreams
        Where all brave adventures are.
    Life seems big and blithe and free
        When a ship puts out to sea.

    Slaves of time and circumstance,
        Humdrum folk and dull are we,
    Yet we sense the old romance
        When a ship puts out to sea,
    And we watch her flag unfurled
        To the wind that sweeps the world,
    Watch her dim and fade and then
        Sighing, turn to toil again.

    Yet, although we may not be
        With her on the deeps that call,
    We can feel the mystery
        And the glamour of it all—
    When a ship puts out to sea.

  • A Change of Plan

    From The Detroit Times, March 3, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    He’d read all the dope on attending to work
        And toiling to suit your employer;
    He knew that to loaf or to laze or to shirk
        Was quite an ambition destroyer;
    So he plunged into work with a zest and a vim
        And he did more than double his share of it;
    He needed a raise, for his wages were slim,
        But he knew that the boss would take care of it!

    For hadn’t the books made this simple fact plain—
        That people would recognize talent;
    That if you would work with your might and your main
        The boss, with a manner most gallant,
    Would give you a raise, though you said not a word,
        To show you were worthy of credit;
    So he toiled and he sweated, but nothing occurred
        And life didn’t go as he’d read it!

    The boss was aware of his merit, all right,
        But he said, “Why the deuce should I raise him
    So long as he’s willing to work day and night
        For what his position now pays him?”
    But weary with waiting, the worker grew wise;
        He said to himself, “Why, dod rot it!
    These books on success are a bundle of lies”—
        So he struck for a raise—and he got it!

  • The Last Word

    From The Commoner, March 1, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    When the voice of the people speaks loud enough
        The deafest of magnates can hear;
    The proudest of bankers is cowed enough
        When the thunderbolts crash in his ear,
    And the Masters of Money grow humble,
        Their arrogance dwindles from sight,
    When they hark to the menacing rumble
        As the people speak out in their might!

    When the voice of the people speaks loud enough
        It’s only a fool who’s defiant;
    It’s only a blind man who’s proud enough
        To think he can conquer the giant—
    The giant so slow in the waking,
        So mighty when once under way,
    That wise men, with knees that are quaking,
        Give heed to his voice—and obey!

    The people have labored and plowed enough,
        They are restless and weary of strain—
    When the voice of the people speaks loud enough
        The Will of the people shall reign!

  • The Heart of Things

    From The Detroit Times, February 13, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    When you care for a girl—why, the world is a place
        That was only created for holding her,
    And the day’s but a light that illumines her face
        And the night but a mantle enfolding her;
    And when you are working or when you’re at play
        Your mind will not turn from the theme of her;
    You muse and you think of her always by day,
        And when it comes night-time you dream of her!

    Where you care for a girl—and the girl cares for you,
        Life seems like a pilgrimage glorious,
    Where the breezes are sweet and the sky’s always blue
        And love is forever victorious;
    When you care for a girl and the girl doesn’t care,
        Well, life’s dull and gray—there’s no doubt of it,
    And it’s hard to keep on with a gay-hearted air
        When the light and the joy have gone out of it!

  • Desires

    From The Detroit Times, February 2, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    I wish that I could be
        An old standpatter
    To look around and see
        Nothing the matter.
    All new thoughts to repel
        With brain that’s flaccid,
    And think that all is well,
        Serene and placid.

    What calm, what peace is his;
        He’s well contented;
    To him all progress is
        A thing demented;
    The world has gone ahead,
        And all things show it;
    Forward the age has sped—
        He doesn’t know it.

    And so he drifts along
        Through all the flurry;
    To him there’s nothing wrong,
        So he should worry;
    To me life’s sometimes grim
        And all things matter,
    And yet I envy him,
        The old standpatter.

  • A Prayer

    From The Tacoma Times, January 30, 1914. By Berton Braley.

    Oh, Master of the World of men
        And Ruler of Eternity,
    Neither with voice nor flowing pen
        Have I asked many things from Thee;
    I have not begged for wealth or fame
        With selfish prayers of little worth,
    Nor have I called upon Thy name
        To smite my enemies to earth.

    Yet now to Thee I raise my eyes
        And lift my voice for Thee to hear;
    No rich and sordid gift I prize,
        No plethora of gold and gear;
    Only this single boon I pray,
        That in a busy world and wide,
    Whether my life be grave or gay,
        I may not grow self-satisfied.

    So, till my final hour is spent,
        Until my work and play are through,
    Lord, let me never be content
        With what I am or what I do;
    Deliver me from smug conceit
        Which clogs the heart and mind in action—
    This is the prayer which I repeat,
        “Lord, guard me from self-satisfaction!”