Tag: Berton Braley

From The Seattle Star, July 4, 1913.
 By Berton Braley.
 

 Here, in the rays of the blazing sun
     And the heat of the summer weather,
 The Cause that Lost and the Cause that Won
     Met on the field together;
 And the Boys in Gray and the Boys in Blue
 Fought for the cause they thought was true
     In the battle’s smoke and smother,
 And the blood ran red and the fields grew black
 And the dead lay still in the cannon’s track,
     As brother fought with brother.
 
 There were deeds of daring on either side
     ‘Mid the big guns’ crash and thunder,
 Which thrill the heart with a mighty pride
     And the brain with a sense of wonder,
 To think of the gallant lads and gay
 Who fought for the blue or the somber gray
     With a bravery fine and splendid—
 And then we shudder to think, in truth,
 Of the thousands slain in the flower of youth
     When the long hot day was ended.
 
 The battle was won and the price was paid
     In agony, blood and treasure,
 And wife and mother and sorrowing maid
     Knew pain that we may not measure,
 For thus we learned at a fearful cost
 That the brave Lost Cause was better lost,
     Though gallant in song and story,
 Lost, that the Union might not die
 But South and North alike might fly
     The Flag that we call Old Glory!
 
 Here in the rays of the blazing sun
     And the heat of the summer weather,
 Was fought the battle that made us One,
     A people close-bound together!
 God grant that never again may we
 Know such a struggle to keep us free,
     With all of our hearts we pray it,
 But if the summons should come again
 To pay the price as we paid it then,
     God grant us the strength to pay it!

From The Seattle Star, June 10, 1913.
 By Berton Braley.
 

 Miss Nancy O’Neill was a suffragette lady,
     Decidedly militant, too,
 Who was loved by an Irishman, Martin O’Grady,
     But vainly indeed, did he woo;
 For Nancy was busy at blowing up houses
     And kicking the chancellor’s cat,
 And so had no time to be thinking of spouses
     Or frivolous subjects like that.
 
 With bon bons and flowers poor Martin pursued her,
     But Nancy was deaf to his suit.
 Though gently and sweetly and kindly he wooed her
     At all his proposals she’d hoot.
 Till finally, wearied of being so tender,
     So patient and placid and calm,
 He gave up the homage he once used to render—
     And sent her a dynamite bomb.
 
 He trampled her garden with ardor most fervent,
     Cast bricks through her window with zest,
 Set fire to the house and abducted her servant,
     Attempted to poison her guest;
 So Nancy said, “How can I EVER resist him?
     Such militance beats me,” she said;
 So she put her fair arms round his neck and she kissed him,
     And now they are happily wed.

From The Seattle Star, April 10, 1913.
 

 It’s pleasant on the upper deck
     Where ocean breezes blow
 To lazy in a steamer chair
     And watch the waves that flow;
 It’s pleasant on the upper deck,
     But mighty hot below.
 
 There’s fun upon the upper deck
     There’s mirth and laughter free,
 There’s music on the upper deck
     As gay as it can be.
 But it’s the boilers down below
     That drives her through the sea.
 
 It’s fine upon the upper deck
     While downward, near the keel,
 The blaze will make you nearly blind,
     The heat will make you reel.
 But we’re the boys who make the steam
     That drives the shaft of steel.
 
 The people on the upper deck,
     They only pays their way;
 We stokers in the boiler room,
     We envies such as they.
 But we—we drives the bloomin’ ship,
     While they—they only play!
 
 There always is an upper deck
     And boilers down below,
 And them that’s on the upper deck,
     They think they’re all the show.
 But it’s the fellows near the keel
     That makes the vessel go.

From The Seattle Star, April 7, 1913. 
 By Berton Braley.
 

 She’s much more important than presidents are
     Or other officials of state;
 In HER hands is power to make or to mar
     Our national future and fate;
 The men of tomorrow are hers for today
     To counsel and pilot and guide.
 With patience and love she will show them the way
     To lives that are worthy of pride.
 
 She is molding the thoughts of the girls and the boys
     To whom we must leave our tomorrows;
 She learns of their every-day pleasures and joys
     And shares in their pains and their sorrows;
 The youth of the country is put in her care
     To learn of the way they should go;
 She gives them her best—and a little to spare
     Which only the children can know.
 
 We know how she works and how nobly she serves
     With all of her soul and her heart,
 Devoting her strength and her health and her nerves
     To playing her excellent part,
 And so it’s our pleasure and even our boast
     The way we are paying our debts,
 Since we give her a salary equal (almost)
     To that which the janitor gets.