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The Labadie RBooklets

DOGGEREL FOR THE
UNDER DOG
BY
JOSEPH A. LABADIE

DETROIT:
The Labadie Shop
19gio

P0INTERSi w
Page
Beggar Made Boss, A.................. 64
Be True and Brave.................. 52
Bob Hlendrie leamster................ 49
Bossism.............................. 68
Bluff TI'hat Goes, The................. 75
IBrine on the Raw\..................... 77
Francisco Ferrer................... 62
Freedom of Speech..................... 9
Freedom Tihru Organization............ 45
Forecast, A.......................... 92
God of Folly, The.................... I2
Greed............................... 48
Have You Been Good to You?.......... 21
Have Faith in Freedom...............36
Hear the Other Side................... 69
Hired Hand, 'To the.................. 31
Hireling's Fear, The.................. 85
Hopeless Dog, A..................... 28
In Other Days........................ 8r
I Say, Comnrad........................ 7
Just What to I)o.......................5
5

Knocks and Boosts................... 99
Labadie Booklets (adv.)................ 98
Lable Blue, TIhe.................... 39
Labor I)ay.......................... 93
Laud to Toil, The.................... 47
Liberty............... *......... 43
Motorman, IThe..................... 88
Oh! Be Not Dumb!................... 6o
Paymaster, 'ITo the.................... 44
Perfidious Power To -1'. 3
erfidious Power, o.................. 53
~................................ 0~
Savin' My Skin....................... 13
Shall Workers Strike? 9.................. 96
Social Sneak, The........................ 90
Suffragette, 1o the.................... 17
Square Pegs in Round Holes........... 37
State, The.......................... 41
Sympathetic Strike, The...................... 7
Times is Hlard............................ 83
Too Many Fool Men......................... 23
Under Dog, To the.................... 35
We're Not So MAuch......................... 33
When.....................................40
W ho is a Socialist?.......................... 25
W ho is a Scab?.............................. 29
What is a Boss?............................ 89
Wage Worker's Wail, A........................ 58
When the Boss is Away....................... 6I
Washerwoman, To the....................... 65
Ye Maudlin Mumblers,................... 73
6

I SAY, COIMRADE!
This Doggerel is verse in,'I/s waorking clothes. Even f the wherewith
had been at hand there lacked time lo
dress up and fuss for holida! ap(earance. The mind, too, weas occupied
with more serious Ihings than merec
dress, allho beau/litul and coslyv al/ire
is apprecialed. But swallow-/alZr are
not worn at work.
Song is not on/l for the opera and
the parlor. The field and the shop and
the mine have their filtnlg songs, /oo,
albeit rude, uncultured, even rasping
at times.
A nd so Doggerel has its ploce in the
economy f letters. Individuai'aty bear.the stamp of Nature and needs no apology. Itforfends a coming soverein/jy.
Sweels in all foods pall the taste. A
dash of vinegar and pepper whet the
appetite. Eat it; di'gest i. It'll do
you good. THE A UTHOR.
Detroit, February, Nineteen-'/even.

-4l

FREEDOM OF SPEECH.
I shall speak out!
Like the roar of the sea, I have a message.
There is danger ahead and I would give warning.
The greater the danger the louder the roar,
And my foghorn voice is pitched deep and
strong.
I am the spirit of Discontent.
I chafe under the galling collar of wrongful
restraint,
And Nature has conferred upon me the power
of insight, of foresight.
The things I see I shall tell,
And the world shall judge be they true or false.
I shall speak out!
Who art thou that sayest me nay?
Whence come thy right and power to stopple
my mouth
9

And barricade the free flow of words to willing
listeners?
Who appointed thee guardian of speech?
Who made thee custodian of ideas?
Who commissioned thee jailor of progress?
Thou art usurper and 1 flout thy authority!
I shall speak out!
My words shall sting thee, shall cut thy hide,
shall drive thee to shame, shall whelm
thee with remorse!
Fool! thou standest in the light of tline own
good,
Casting a blighting shadow on thine own soul!
I come with the blaze of the sun in my face,
And thou canst not gaze with candor in mine
eyes.
I shall speak out!
Thy criminal purpose would blow out the lights
that guide the mariners to ports of safety;
Would ruthlessly take the breast from hungry
infants;
Would blot out the signboards on the road to
knowledge;
10

Would fasten cords across the pathway to the
spring (f righteousness
To trip the unwary and impede the watchful.
I shall speak out!

THE GOD OF FOLLY.
I am Labor.
I am in every busy part of the restless globe.
I am omnipotent as the soil and the sea, omnicient as the children of man.
I am big with the littleness of my wisdom.
I am all-powerful and mastered by pigmies.
I make the luxuries of the world and famish for
necessities.
I build palaces as tribute for living in hovels of
my own construction.
I milk the earth and Idleness drinks the cream.
I create railroads and floating palaces and
blister my feet tramping from Monopoly
to Denied Opportunity.
I produce all: I do all: I have nowhere to lay
my tired head.
And Starvation eagerly waits to eat my vitals.
pick my bones.
Why all this?
I do not know.

SAVIN' MY SKIN.
These simple rimes are not so much,
But some ain't very bad,
And so I print them as they come,
To make some fellers glad,
And I can't help if other folks
Do git a trifle mad.
I know I've hit some cusses hard,
And this may not be wise,
But maybe swipes aside the head
Might wake their sleepy eyes,
And so the club went right and left
Among the guilty guys.
Without no paint or varnish gloss
Or polished phrase sublime,
But in the jargon of my class
In toil and strife and grime
I've told the truth in wagework ways
In rhythm and in rime.
You, better paid; you, harlots bought!
Who rail against the clan

That thru their efforts strive in love
To help their fellow man,
Why don't you hide your heads in shame,
Till you your souls can scan!
I've felt the insults to my class,
I've suffered paltry wage,
I've met the petty boss's bluff
In every galling stage,
And winced beneath perfidious law
On every law book page!
I know the law is not for thralls,
I know the courts are crass,
I know the state is kept alive
To keep Toil slave, alas!
And I do know that wages slaves
Must freedom win enmass.
The State exists to keep Toil down
When privilege commands,
When Toil against monopoly
In credit and in lands
Protests aloud and bravely dares
Authority's rude hands.
14

And even those against us
Are brothers in the end,
As all the good that comes to us
Their interests defend,
And so with constant hue and cry
The right will all befriend.
No human force can stop the spread
Of Labor's mighty plea
That those who plant shall own the fruit,
And every worker free!
As every breeze opponents blow
Wide scatters the decree.
And so I thus confess to you
My muse's minor sin,
To save the many ugly words
That might escape your chin,
And also keep in fair repair
My literary skin.

Why be a scab
And with your blab
Become a thing for laughter,
And then yourself
For little pelf
Just hate forever after?

TO TIHE SUFFRAGETTE.
0, yes, dear girl, I think you should
Have equal rights with men,
But are you sure the voting game
Is worth the while, when
Wise(?) men have voted without good
These many years and ten?
What makes you think the ballot-box
Will cure the women's woes,
When it has not, in all these years,
Kept wrong off others' toes?
Think you that righteousness will come
If we but count your nose?
Where has the ballot righted wrongs?
Where eased a people's groan?
Where has the vote yet given him
The harvest who had sown?
Where has it in effe&amp;iveness
A tyrant overthrown?
Nay, all the votes in christendom
Can't make the snow fall black;
Nor do they throw the cunning ones
From workaday's bent back,
i7

As still the brigand earns his wealth
By cunning, spoil and sack.
At best a vcte but delegates
The might that rests in you,
And this has little potency
So long as you are few,
But when the many justly thinkThey then can wrong taboo!
At any rate, the right will come
To dominate our lives
When many, each in person, do
What bravely break the gyves
From off the hands of servitude,
By which the master thrives!
To cast a vote that gives another
Power over me
Is not to bring to fellowship
The boon of being free,
But simply grants a ruling class
A people's liberty.
Nor have I right to some one else
Give power over you
18

To do what simple righteousness
Forbids myself to do,
So when I vote the few to rule
I freedom's rule eschev.
The reason why we've suffered long,
By politicians ruled,
Is just because mendacity
Has most the people fooled;They've let themselves be wronged, as they
Were not in freedom schooled.
I see no way for you to do
To win your freedom true
But to proclaim self sovrainty
O'er what you choose to do,
Aud thus deny the rulership
Of others over you!
Deny the right of any one
To rule you 'gainst your will!
Resist the tax they'd make you pay
To fill their robber till,
E'en tho your passive forcefulness
Their noisome prisons fill!
19

Who would be free must pay the price
In treasure or in blood;
And freedom 's always worth the costSweet heaven here in budTho it be clash of blade to blade,
Tho it be hell in flood!
Thus will you bring to public view
In plain, convincing way,
How states invade the person's weal,
And thus prolong their sway;
And great will be the lesson
To the people of your day.
If ruthless states have no just right
To make you pay a tax,
Then, if you vote, have you the right
To burden other backs
And make them carry buccaneers
When they in pay are lax?
You can't be fiee and governed too,
As one is t'other's foe;
And what's the odds if you be slave
To king or crowd below?
You still must bear the bitterness
Which bondmen undergo!
20

HAVE YOU BEEN GOOD TO YOU?
If you have ills that irk your soul
And pain your body thru,
Does it not show you've done some thing
That reason should eschew;
And tho you love yourself quite well
You've not been good to You?
The world may look as black as hell,
Gaunt hunger you pursue;
The clouds of hate may dark your door
And friendship false bestrew,
But ain't it 'cause the faults are yours?You've not been good to You?
Tho other folks have not been just,
Tho business blights accrue,
Tho all the things you undertook
Have balked and gone askew,
Are you quite sure you've done your best?That you've been good to You?
I know the economic ills
You've suffered a lifelong thru;
I know that cruel social rules
Have beat you black and blue;
21

But you and you and you and you,
Have you been good to You?
If you have "scabbed" in any wayBeen traitor to your crew;
If you have robbed, tho legallyBeen mean for revenue;
If you've maligned your fellowmenHave you been good to You?
If you've done what made good sense laff
Because of airs undue;
If you've been snob or cad or brute,
Tried manhood to subdue,
Then do you think you've done the things
That have been good for You?
22

TOO MANY FOOL MEN.
The millennium, my son, is far away,
If judged by the doings of men of today.
From morning to evening it's fight, fight, fight,
To keep the human wolves at bay.
It is struggle, struggle, from morning till eve
To brush away cobwebs the manspiders weave;
And from the birthday to the day of the grave
It's fighting the devils who'd rule us and thieve.
It is fight and struggle, cut deep and bleed;
Corrupting good women in the cesspool of
greed;
Trampling God's children in the scramble for
gold,
And riding o'er men with daredevil steed.
Oh, that fool man would suffer such things!
And they the conceit to call themselves kings
Wherever they ballot and holler for those
Who cunningly jerk the political strings.
Real kings may be brutal, ignorant, proud;
They may need to fight for their jobs unallowd,
23

But they never beg shelter, food and clothes,
As they who shout loudest in the voting crowd.
When a sensible man wants something done
He himself tries until he has won,
And leaves not the doing for another to do,And this makes success for A No. i.
If you need a ruler why not rule yourself,
And not leave to him who rules but for pelf?
Why seek to rule others if yourself you can't rule!
Self rule voids the cost of a lordly elf.
Oft have I wondered, when thinking of man,
If God did not err in his workaday plan,
When the last job he did at the end of the week
He made not more asses and left out fool
man.

WHO IS A SOCIALIST?
They jawd and glared, and jawd agin,
An' pounded fist with fist,
Denyin' t'other's right ter call
Hisself a socialist!
Each thot, it seemed, he knowd it all
And put on a owl pose,
Becaws he'd growd some crank idee
Uv curin peepul's woes,
An seemed ter think ter cuss an rant
At every captalist,
Ter dam employers, preechers, rich,
Made him a socialist.
But vilent words aint wisdom's tools,
An threts dont eddicate,
An hate and sneers an blasfamy
Dont carry enny weight.
Taint what ye think, er what ye say,
Er how much ye insist
Ye'd gladly die fer Labor's cawz
That makes ye socialist.
No hog in manners er in mind,
No profitmonger keen,
25

No Shylock hungry fer his stake,
No landlord hard an mean,
No tyrant with a rod ter rule,
No meddlin Grundyist,
No fatnecked heeler grabbin place,
Is yet a socialist.
No one with revrence fer the law
That robs er jails er hangs
Whoever prints reformin words
Er honestly harangues
The crowd ter put a stop ter graft,
Which the monoperlist
Hez long injoyd, to others' hurt,
Can be a socialist.
Ye can't take what ye never earned
An keep it fer yer own;
Ye can't invade another's will
Er privilege condone;
Ye can't do what 's not free fer all,
In deviltry persist,
Er be a bigot, bully, brute,
An be a socialist,

Them things don't fit with what is right,
Er what is squar an true;
An if we're goin ter hev a change
Let's not make it askew.
I rayther think one must be just,
Indulgent, optermist,
Be honest with hisself an all,
Ter be a socialist.
They jawd an glared, an jawd agin,
An pounded fist with fist,
Denyin t'other's right ter call
Hisself a socialist.

A HOPELESS DOG.
Who will not brave displeasure
In asking for his own;
Who will not dare discomfort
In reaping what he's sown;
Who will not stand for freedom,
Tho he must stand alone,
Is very like a hungry dog
Who will not hunt a bone.
28

WHO IS A SCAB?
A scab is one who works below
A just, sufficient wage,
And as the produdts should be his
Whose efforts they engage,
It follows as the night the day
Who gets but one in five
Is scabbing it, tho 'gainst his will,
Tho 'gainst it he may strive.
He may not be a scab at heart,
A cringing, crawling slave;
He may aloud protest against
Conditions that deprave;
But as a day of leaden sky
Makes everything look drab,
A system which depresses soul
Inclines to make men scab.
Who will not dare to stand for what
Is justly all his own,
Has not the spirit of a dog
Who fights for lenten bone;
And if he does not know what is
His rightful property
29

He will not ever have the sense
To win sweet liberty.
And so along with lack of sense
And want of gritty sand,
He'll always be an underling,
An abjeA hired hand,
An insect crawling in the dung
Whose biggest part is gab,
A sycophantic, drooling dolt,
A sinning, stupid scab.
30

TO THE HIRED HAND.
You're nothing but a hired hand
And not supposed to think,
But only do what you are told
In reaping of the chink,
And when you've brought it into
sight
It's grabbed as quick as wink.
The reason you are called a hand
Is 'cause you use no brains,
But simply move as a machine
As capital ordains,
While it takes all emoluments
And you take all the pains.
If you but used an ounce of sense
And thimbleful of sand
You'd know it is your work that
makes
The riches of the land,
And then you'd take the means to
keep
The produts of your hand.

But just so long as you make wealth
For Privilege to hoard
You'll be a beggar at his gate,
And there he'll be implored
To let you use of nature's gifts
To get your bed and board.
A beggar has no right to choose,
He has no right to live,
And so he gets what Privilege
Has just amind to give,
And that's as much as water stays
When poured into a sieve.
When hand and head co-operate
In a sagacious way,
Old Privilege will lose his grip,
You be no longer prey,
But master of your own results.
Oh, Fates! fast speed the day!

WE'RE NOT SO MUCH.
A bunch of bones,
A mite of meat,
A hank of hair,
Seem man complete.
A little air,
A little food,
A little drink
Seem amplitude.
A little love
Mixed with despair,
A little joy,
So fleet and rare!
The mass are meek,
The few are proud,
The few are bold,
The many cowed.
The few command,
The mass obey,
While many mow
The few make hay.

We fight, we kill,
We cheat, we clutch,
We rob and hateWe're not so much.

TO THE UNDER DOG.
To you who feel the poisoned sting of shame
That sore subjection daily gives
I reach to you a brother's daring hand,
Where revolution lives.
I feel bdneath my well-worn shiny coat
A fateful protest loud and strong,
Rebuke age-long of gross indignities
Thru economic wrong.
No worker yet enjoys glad liberty
Who must perforce another ask
For leave to earn a bite of bitter bread,
A doubly-irking task.
We know not yet what human freedom is,
As each another would restrain;
Who cries aloud in stringent, raucous voice
Hears not the heart's refrain.
And so I sing my halting, homely songs
As leisurely thru the world I jog,
In hope they may some courage give
The whining under dog.

HAVE FAITH IN FREEDOM.
Ye who desire freedom must have
faith in freedom,
Even as Bartimeus had faith in the
Nazarine Jew,
And even as to him will the scales
fall from thine eyes
And you be made whole.
And the things that ye ask,
And the things that ye need
Will be given unto you,
And they that went before and they
that follow
Will cry hosanna!
Blessed are they that cometh in the
name of freedom.

SQUARE PEGS IN ROUND HOLES.
Where it's so hard to find a job
By which to earn one's bread
One takes whatever comes to hand,
Tho not to what he 's led,
And makes a bluff at doing well,
Tho poorly done it be:
Monopoly in means of work
Makes inefficiency.
If every mind were free to choose
Where impulse bade it work;
If every hand were free to use
Without a price or quirk
What nature freely gives to allThe sunshine, land and airThere 'd be no effort pressed awry
By misfits here and there.
No flower yet refused to bloom
If put in happy soil;
No water yet refused to flow
If naught did nature foil;
No human hand refuses work
If freedom prompts its mood:37

When freely fluxes human skill
It finds its habitude.
When Need with unrelenting lash
Makes choice 'twixt work and beg
One rushes heedlessly along
With no inclining leg,
And thus it is that capital
In land, sunshine and air
Is making stress to fill round holes
With pegs unfitting, square.
*J~

THE LABEL BLUE.
When in the eve beside your hearth of ease
You smoke and dream of blythe and rosy joy,
The clouds that roll like fog upon the seas
A tale could tell that might your soul annoy.
In cloud-wreathed setting see dim-lighted rooms
Where stunted youth and palsied age compete
'Mid rags and filth and poison-ladened fumes,
And make cigars that outwardly look neat.
The itch for gold, and Labor's lack of chance
To earn its needs without Restraint's consent,
Conspire to spread disease and still advance
The sway of Greed, which robs the innocent.
To those who 'd help themselves, come, show
good will,
And struggling Toil aid from its wretched state.
Smoke Union-made cigars and thus instill
Brave hearts with hope, their lot ameliorate.
Then buy cigars that bear the Label Blue,
And thus give earnest lift to ill-paid Toil.
This potent sign is meant to caution you
Against disease and pestilential moil.
39

WHEN.
When men will laugh in the face of death,
When men observe the way to weal,
When men dare think in open day,
When men dare do the way they feelThen will the world have freedom.
When men refuse to war with men,
When men will not their fellows rule,
When men decline to yield to reign,
When men give up the role of foolThen will the world have justice.

THE STATE.
Long eons past, when man was young,
Strong, hairy arms, and big,
He roamed about the forests dense
And grunted like a pig;
He found his food in roots and trees
Along his jungle way,
And thought but little, right or wrong,His brains were mostly clay.
But after several million years
Aroaming like a beast,
He hearded like the other brutes
For shelter, fence and feast,
And thus the tribes began to grow,
And social instincts, too,
When Mine and Thine were born to men,
And the crafty rendezvous.
Then was it first discovered
That one tribe things possessed
What t'other envied very much,
Which showed they had progressed;
And so they up and took them,
Without a yes or no,
41

The deed transferring ownership
A mighty, deadly blow.
Now, in the squabble incident
To this governmental deal
Some prisoners were deftly caught,
Which made a luscious meal,
And so a rich accessory
To other property
Were all the goodies, juicy, sweet,
For a victor's royal spree.
But though they gorged to stuffiness
Some prisoners were left,
And so provision must be made
Else stomachs would be cleft:
They made them do their wars and work
In misery and scorn,
Just leaving them to meanly live,
And thus the State was born/
And during all the centuries
That since have come and gone
These slaves have loiled with aching backs,
E'en now they cringe andfawn/
42

And even yet they have not wit
To keep what they create,
But bow in gross submission still
To thir same crafty State!
LIBERTY.
" But tell me, please, what's Liberty?"
Asks one who wants to know.
The right to work and all results,
Despite Leave's yes or noTo do just what you have a mind,
While not enslaving me,
Each owning self, no matter what's
Authority's decree.

TO THE PAYMASTER.
How glad we are to meet you;
How glad the hands that greet you;
How glad we 'd be to treat you
Were you to come each day!
How glad you make us truly;
How glad the wives are duely;
How glad the babes coo-cooly,
When you bring us our pay!
'Tis cash that makes the mare go;
'Tis cash that pays the fare O;
'Tis cash that is so rare O
So shortly after pay!
So, come till us they coffin;
So, come our hearts to soften;
So, come again and often,
You master of the pay!

"FREEDOM THRU ORGANIZATION."
I can't alone contend against
The force that does me wrong,
Nor yet can you, without my help,
Withstand this power long.
To both it comes with blighting hands,
Invading rights of each,
We weakly each alone protest
And fruitlessly beseech.
We work in forests, fields and mines,
Enslave the sullen deep,
We fashion things for human use,
Exploit the mountains steep,
We do the work of all the world,
And do it fairly well,
But let the grasping codger crew
Take all but bagatelle.
The cunning of this pirate crew
Is always keen and pert.
They keep us foolishly apart,
Our welfare to subvert,
Strife stirring up between us
In a grim, Satanic way,
45

Because we differ as to God,
In different tongues we pray.
So long as it is easier
To work who hardest work
This codger crew will nothing do
But useful labor shirk.
Do that which pays the best, you see,
Is economy's wise plan,
So when we get horse sense enough
We'll foil this daring clan.
It always pays, old graybeard says,
To reason mix with acts;
But do you think the working world
Heeds such transparent facts
As they who work most usefully
Have scarce enough to live,
While they who work the useful ones
Have flaunting alms to give?
When usefulness has sense enough
To organize as shield
Against the onslaughts of this crew
Less will its raidings yield.
46

You cannot freedom win alone,
You cannot wrongs aright:
Together we must each defend
Or wage a losing fight!
THE LAND TO TOIL.
Come to my arms, ye hungry one,
And on my breast find food and rest.
Plenitude and liberty I'll give
If faith in me you'll manifest
By deeds of hands and golden will
And hests of highest use fulfill.

GREED.
Greed, greed, with your hands of steeL;
Greed, greed, with your heart of stone;
Greed, greed, grim foe of our weal,
Your joy is a human groan.
Greed, greed, with your eyes awide;
Greed, greed, with your clutch of death,
Gloating over infanticide,
Tears and pain and woe your breath!
Will you always grip our throats?
Will you ever blight our good?
Thwart whate'er our joy promotes,
Sapping human brotherhood?
Greed, greed, oh, death to your seed!
Death to your parents and growth!
Out with your cankered, robber breedDarkness and dastardness, both!

BOB HENDRIE, TEAMSTER.
Who was sunstruck to death while hauling water pipe for
the Detroit Water Commission, Aug. 25, 1906.
He never did no one no harm,
An paid his dets as best he could;
He done his work as tho twas charm,
Ez enny simple feller would.
He had small lernin out o' books,
An wan't ez wise es Solon was;
He wa'n't Adonis ez ter looks,
But done hiz work fer jest becauz.
He druv his team ameny year,
Till George an Jim wuz chums ter him,
An none o' them didn't hev no fear
Ter tackle eny job with vim.
He cum and went ez did the dayJes jogged along with noiseless deeds;
An when he got hiz skinny pay
He guy it all fer fambly needs.
He took a lot o' workmen wrongs
Without no very nasty kick;
An sukumstances sharped the prongs
Thet kem hiz way so fast an thick.
49

But, goodness! he wuz like th' rest
Thet thinks their wrongs is natural,
An takes what cums ez tho twuz best,
No matter how unrashunal.
He didn't kno thet things on erth
Iz very much ez mortals makeThet sense don't giv ter toilers derth
Uv homes an clothes an meat an cake!
But Bob iz gone! The slave iz ded,
Ez slave iz him who tugs away
In face of soshul wrongs, insted
Uv joinin in the rightin fray!
We past th' hat fer Mrs. Bob
Ter git th' younguns things they need.
Ther wa'n't enuf in Hendrie's job:
Tho we purtend th' Christly creed!
But, eneyway, we kuverd him
With flowers alive he cudent have,
Ez in this way we tries ter trim
Fer givin sores insted uv salve!
September, nineteen-six.
50

JUST WHAT TO DO.
It isn't pluck to chuck your job
And go your idle way,
Unless you make the menace good,Forever stay away.
It ain't good sense to damn the boss
Unless you're sure he's wrong,
As humble pie is bitter food,
Regret a sorry song.
It isn't valor scabbing it
On whom for freedom fights,
Or strives to mend the hireling's lot,
And stands for human rights.
It isn't manly, cute or brave
To act the sneaking spy
And make yourself a poisoned thorn,
Your mates to crucify.
The fittest thing a wage worker
Can with high honor do
Is stand by his class interests,
And swell his revenue;
51

Just like a mountain brave and strong,
Hold high his head in air,
Full conscious of integrity,
And daring to be square.
BE TRUE AND BRAVE.
Don't let the boss be rude to you
In either deed or word
Without you let, with dignity,
Protesting words be heard.
Do not his manners imitate
By being snake or bear,
InfliAting hurts without good cause,
Or wounds beyond repair.
But just be honest, brave and true,
Be thoughtful and be kind,
And always you'll come out aheadAnd he'll come out behind.
14

TO PERFIDIOUS POWER.
You have led us into quagmires of distress;
You have looted our homes while we were asleep;
You have stolen thru deception our life-making
means;
You have baited us with hope into your courts
when we have grieved,
And confused us with logomachy into the belief
that justice was done.
When our land was gone, our machinery gone,
our spirit welinigh gone,
Thru your law making, your spoliation, your
bottomless greed,
We awoke to find galling chains fastened to
slavery and to us.
We cried out in astonishment;
We protested in dignified tones;
We became alarmed at your audacity and
drunken recklessness;
We took conventional ways of loosening your
grip,
But the milder our efforts the more relentless
your hold,
The greater your gluttony for unearned debaucheries at the tables we ourselves have spread.
53

We would suffer without anger if you left enough
to shield from hunger and weather.
But you have taken so much that but one in a
hundred owns more that the ninety and
nine,
That more than half cannot cover their nakedness,
While beggary is misdemeanor, seeking work a
felony,
And vigorous protest excuse for the gallows.
We have turned to our fellows who are not yet
awake
In the hope of arousing psychic power, moral
force, social potency
To thwart your unholy licenciousness and
rapacity,
And you have cut out our tongues, pied our
types, dismantled our presses;
Aye, even with vindidtive malevolence imprisoned
and murdered our teachers and leaders.
We suffer, and may continue to suffer, with no
spleen or rancor in our hearts,
But with full knowledge of the wrong done us,
In the hope the spirit of Christ, and of Buddah,
and of Confucius;
54

That the honor of Franklin, of Paine, of Jefferson, of Lincoln;
That the knowledge of Proudhon, of Warren, of
Marx, of Andrews, of Spencer, of George;
That the justice of the dreams and the realities
of justice;
Will flood your heart with light and usher peace
ando plenty, prosperity and fraternity into
the world as it was before never.
But you construe our mildness into cowardice;
You think our plea for education, for patience,
for humanitarian demeanor
Is but cloak to supineness and effeminacy and
whiteliverism;
That we lack sand, shrink from danger, avoid
peril;
That your control of the army, the navy, the
police, and the civic agencies of the world
Give you security from physical attack, which
you court rather than conflid on the field of
reason,
And so you dance nigh the pits of hell and in
wanton mockery defy the hosts of righteousness on earth!

But who venture into your brothels for a bite
of bread and a bit of rag?
Who dare dreadful death in your stolen mines
for a mere existence?
Who ride the hungry waters while furies would
drag them to watery graves?
Who risk the dangers of building skyward lofts
for your torting business?
Who fight your futile battles while you reap the
glory and reward?
And you have the impudence to say who do
these things lack courage, avoid danger,
fear death!
You lie in your heart or know not the truth!
They but lack diredion to their own weal.
In pity, in brotherness, in the love I bear the
human fellow,
I pray you heed the warnings of the past!
Awaken not the storm that lies asleep in the
human breast.
Tempt not the ferocity of men frenzied with
despair.
As you love your prosperity, your property,
your peace;
56

As you idolize your wives and children, I implore you invite not the cataclysm of unreason and hopelessness
By breeding in the disregard of human weltare
the awfulness of riot and murder and rapine
which your negledc of human life has
planted in the maltreated human heart!
The earthquake has no pity:
The tidal wave spares none in mercy;
The hurricane sweeps to destruction the just
and the unjust, the guilty and the innocent;
Nor heed the maddened masses in their mighty
swee-ps in throe and vengefulness of wrongs
past and present!

A WAGE WORKER'S WAIL.
No one asked me if I'd be born,
But here I am, of needfuls shorn.
Had I been asked I would have learned
About the terms and then discerned.
But as I'm here, sans yes or no,
Why not let me in freedom grow?
On every hand I am restrained
Until I'm dwarfed, distorted, drained.
With mind and mouth and hands I came,
With mortal needs that loud acclaim,
A will to search for what's to know
SAnd eyes to see what come and go.
The things I need to eat and wear,
The shelter from the weather's tare,
The prints to read, the joys I crave,
I get by being someone's slave.
The stuff for these in nature's raw
Is Privilege's wealth by law,
And ere I came the greed for land
Had crippled each unlicensed hand.
58

I wonder if an upright God,
With force almighty in his nod,
Knew I was coming when I did
And on my welfare shut the lid?
And when the boss was being born
On him he emptied plenty's horn,
And in his mouth a golden spoon
With which to gorge his worldly boon?
I never could quite clearly see
Why such a gulf 'twixt him and me,Why he 's indulged and I am grilled,
As neither came because he willed.

OH, BE NOT DUMB.
Come, Nature, in thine own willed way
And I thy mandates will obey.
Tho knowing not where they may lead,
They'll guide me right I know indeed.
I question not thy wisdom true,
But to thy line I try to hew
And let the chips fall where they may.
They'll rest aright as fallen lay.
When raw discomforts come to me
I know I've failed in thy decree,
I know my conduct's been untrue,
As pains and griefs in me accrue.
So give me power, mighty force,
To understand thy certain course,
And thus avoid pains that would come.
Oh, be not deaf, nor be thou dumb!

WHEN THE BOSS IS AWAY.
When the cat has gone away
All the mice indulge in play,
Sport about in wanton glee
And wish the cat they'd never see.
So it is with all the boys
Who with unencumbered joys
Dance the absence of the boss,
Which brings neither grief nor loss.

FRANCISCO FERRER.
Man of the morning;
Citizen of all the morrows;
Comrade of culture; friend of freedom;
Lightbearer, leader out of the darkness;
Blazer of ways thru the maze of stupidity;
Wrecker of woe;
Enemy of tyranny;
Opponent of misery;
Harbinger of peace;
Lifeline from wreckage to safety;
Barrier to brigandage and plunder;
Hater of shams and foe of authority;
Who believed books more potent than bombs;
Who made war on war with weapons of peace;
Who dared ignorance and dastardness out of
their dens.
Ferrer, dead by those for whom he would
have lived;
Brother of Christ, more christian than the
church,
More kingly than kings, more democratic than
democracy;
Kin to all the saviors of the world;
62

Anarchist, lover of man, builder of paradise
here.
Out into the mystery of death he was plunged
Only to rise as a sun into the morning sky of
martyrs,
Where the horrified world may see the holes in
his brave breast,
And every hole a star for the guidance of stormtossed mariners on the sea of life.
His murderers have but spread his light,
And the burning brands from his fire go over
the earth,
Lighting other fires, where sorrow may warm its
heart,
And the accessories to his death may ash their
benighted brows and beat their brutal
breasts,
With mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa,
Whence they must walk the highways of the
the world,
Shunned and execrated forever,
Like lost souls in hell.
October, nineteen-nine.

THE BEGGAR MADE BOSS.
Put a beggar on a horse's back
And he'll ride him clear to hell,
With his cruel rowells dripping blood
Nor grant a breathing'spell.
Pell-mell away,
Alack-a-day!
After the beggar the flood.
A beggar was made a boss of men
In a modern industry,
And his whine was turned to curses big,
And his glare was fierce to see.
Pell-mell away,
Alack-a-day!
The beggar made all hands dig.

TO THE WASHERWOMAN.
To you, dear lady, true discernment doffs his
courtly hat
As pioneer par excellence of culture's grace,
Who ranks far in front among the worthies of
the world!
What would we do without you and your busy
brush and tub?
Were it peopled with addlepates who coin silly
jokes about your lowly mienFolk whom you, with caloused, homely hands,
release from filth and fit for decency(Cads who deem useful work as shamefulness
indeed),
Dirt would peer its scurvy face from every nook
and space,
And smut, defilement, soilure, slimy ooze and
mold
Would dance in draggled duds and wear the
dregs of matter wrongly placed.
No culture can be unclean,
And so your board and brush and persistency
are balm to noisomeness,
And breed bright eyes, and blooming cheeks, &amp;
buoyant bodies, and joyous comfortness
65

From matter mixed discordantly.
You bring to fitless elements that harmony
which marks sweet mindfulness to godly
things,
And so the graceless world owes more to you
for deeds well done than all the witless
rulers in their presumptive pride and cruelty,
A golden truth the slothful thinking multitude
see not because you are so close.
See that dream of addlepated uselessness in-fluffy
furbelows, ribbons and laces,
Redolent fiom sparkling waters, soap and sacrifice of useful hands?
Without you, Hygeia's daughter, shielding
mortal bloom with domestic arms,
There 'd be instead a beastly bunch of bawdy
bones and rags and taint and tangled
threads.
No flood felicitous performs its functions faithfuller than you;
No storm of snowflakes bleeches more solubriously;
No perfume of furrowed field fills the atmosphere
with finer exhalations.
66

As rains and winds and sun, you leave the
sweetest fragrance after you.
Your sacred scars, won in the war with dirt,
Are more worthy far than warriors wear
As grim evidences of folly's futile flow of human
blood.
Down upon your well-washed floor I kneel
And pardon beg for failing heretofore to sing
my homely song to you.

BOSSISM.
It grinds its dirt into my rebel soul,
And moves my heart to resolute revolt!
It leers its churlish face and grins with gall,
And flouts a mocking laugh at my assault!
I dash myself against its cruel barbs
And bleed disaster at its brutal feet;
I cry in anguish sore a defy deep
And of my sleeping fellows aid entreat
For help to kill this cruel brute,
And free ourselves from bonds the masses make.
We bind ourselves with ignorance, O kin!
With grit and sense we'd soon bossism break.

HEAR THE OTHER SIDE.
Hear the other side, my man,
Hear the other side.
Do not deceive yourself, my man,
And think you now know all you can,
As other views there are to scan.
Hear the other side, my man,
Hear the other side.
Hear the other side, my love,
Hear the other side.
Tho sly as serpent, meek as dove,
Tho brilliant as the stars above,
Tho cultured as a silken glove,
Hear the other side, my love,
Hear the other side.
Try to learn, my comrade true,
Hear the other side.
There're lots that may be new to you,
There're lots that's good you may taboo,
There're lots you may now misconstrue
Or not discern, my comrade true;
Hear the other side.

Hear the other side, my friend,
Hear the other side.
Alrho 'tis naught you may commend,
Altho 'tis naught you may defend,
Altho 'tis naught you comprehend,
Hear the other side, my friend,
Hear the other side.
Hear the other side, my foe,
Hear the other side.
'Tis better than a brutal blow,
Your enmity it might o'erthrow,
And save us both from lasting woe,
So hear the other side, my foe,
Hear the other side.

THE SYMPATHETIC STRIKE.
Of course, boss doesn't like the strike
That shows your sympathy,
As when ye think and at alike
It breaks his iron sway.
The strike invades no right of his,
Is your most potent arm,
Effedtive without fuss or fizz,
As easy as a charm.
Just fold your arms, unhappy toil,
When mammon does you wrong,
But let him not your weal embroil
in brabble's weakling throng.
The State has granted but to him
The right to shoot to kill,
But when you stand with courage grim
It cows his murderous will.
Tho steeped his heart in glutting greed,
Think you he dare shoot down
Who harm no one, but don't concede
That loot should wear a crown?
7I

If ye but once would all agreeWould think and act alikeTo nature's priceless forces freeFor glorious freedom strike;Would but awhile (e'en for a week)
Suspend your hired toil,
Tho mammon swears and raves in pique,Just dam his stream of spoil!
The universal strike 's the thing
To right the wrongs ye feel.
'Tis better than the bullet's sting,
And ballots stay your weal.
No wheel could turn. And don't ve know
That commerce stops then, too?
That unearned wealth, your keenest foe,
From turning wheels accrue?
Refuse, I say, ye wincing thralls,
To do a tap of work,
And see how gently swagger falls,
How helpless is the shirk!

YE MAUDLIN MUMBLERS.
Hide from me your sickly faces,
Grimed and seared and seamed and vacant.
Show me not your gaping wounds
That plead with bloody eloquence
Of industrial victories won in behalf
Of captains of capital and masters of toil!
Expose me not your crippled hands,
Gashed and hacked and bruised
In the battle with nature for crumbs for yourself
and loaves for the boss.
Exploit not my sympathies with your maimed
arms,
Your broken bones, your ragged backs,
Your famishing families, your meager pay.
Tell me not the throeful tales of travail.
I like them not.
What have I to do with them?
Am I the author of all these tragedies?
Can I change systems by simple protest,
Or pen dipped in bloody tears and bitter words?
Go from me!
My ears beat my heart sick with the sound of
your wail.
Prove to me ye have sand in your scowls;
73

Talk out loud and say what ye mean,
And follow your thunder with refreshing storm;
Show me ye make righteous demands,
That your hopes are not worse than your plaints;
Give evidence ve mean to make your minds
mighty,
That ye are willing to bare freedom-loving
breasts
On the peaceful barricades against puny political
powers
That totter like rotten trees in a gale,
And would topple to destruction did ye let
them,
And I shall clasp hands with you,
And we can win freedom without bluster or
ballots or bullets,
But by simply letting unrighteousness alone.
Until then keep your whining words to yourselves.
I have troubles enough of my own.

THE BLUFF THAT GOES.
"Here, Labor, what have you there?
Something good to drink or eat?
Something nice that I can wear?
Something that will more complete
Life as here becomes my right,
As becomes my station here
As director of your good,
As makes famous my career?
If you have I'll take it now.
What! Wife and children need? Pish!
Don't you dare to say me nay
When I choose to have my wish!
If your wife and children want,
You're to blame. It's naught to me.
Why take burdens vou can t bear
Without maudlin pity's plea?
I come first. Remember that.
And tho wives and babies die,
Tho you hunger, work and rack,
You my will must gratify!
Am I not necessity?
I am government divine!
Are not they who'd thwart my will
Blind with drink of freedom's wine?"
75

So loudly spake authority,
Scarce suppressing cynic smile.
Labor meCekly, lowly bowed,
Yielding up the goods the while.

BRINE ON 'THE RAW.
(i'ilYou're a liar and you know it,
And you know the truth is gallinig,
And you know its telling hurts you,
As your moral sense is timid,
And it doesn't pay in dollars,
As it hurts your social standing,
As you're laughed at as eccentric
If you're truthful nearly always.
~'I'To be honest is a burden,
As it hampers you in business,
And it's useful but for buncombe,
As but few in trade can use it,
And all rulers but abuse itPoliticians are but tyrants,
Who play magic with your freedom,
Who play double with your produds.
Who but bunko you with pretence,
Who to rascals grant indulgence
From the need of being useful,
From the need of doing labor,
And to them they give the power
For to take your substance from you;
And they laugh at you as ninny
77

'Cause you think they're surely needed,
That you cannot do without them
(And you do so poorly with them
That they 're needful as the measels),
'rhat, perforce, they aye must rule you;
And they drive you to the battles
Where you fight youT fellows fiercely
And they take the spoils of outrage,
And you bray about the glory
Of the confliti that was gory;
And you strut and fuss like peacocks,
As you 're plucked as well as they are
Of the piumage that you 're proud of,
And you let them without protest,
And seem glad they do it deftly.
1 O yvou d-onkev, nisev, noodle;
You 're a dizzard, dullard, doodle,
And a ninnyhammer, booby;
You're a hoddy-doddy, looby;
You 're a mooncalf and a driveller;
You're a nincompoop and trifler;
You 're an oaf and lout and lown;
You 're a witling, lubber, clown.

a-iYou who work in field or fadory,
You who toil in mine or ditches,
You who sail the dangerous waters,
You who guide machine or engine,
You who fag in store or office,
You who plant or teach or manage,
You who do some useful effort,
Who are earning food and shelter
In an honest way and faithful
And protest against the system
That is robbing, maiming, killing;
That is prostituting daughters,
That is capitalizing children,
That's enslaving all the workers
Paying interest, rent and profit;I/'you know your rights and claim them,
If an advocate of freedom,
If a partisan of justice.
If a lover of our tellows,
Then no name ab,ve recited
Can you wear with proper fitness,
Otherwise they fit vou nicely,
And I dare to put them on you,
In the hope they'll rasp and pique you,
In the faith they'll reach your reason,
79

In the hope they'll make you hostile
To the things that make injustice,
To the things that make you liar,
To the things that make you coward,
To the things that make you grovel
To the bulls of Grundy, Mammon,
And the things that make you bruter than the
brute.

IN OTHER DAYS.
In the days of well-to-do
Justice plead with sunny mien,
Smiled in faces summerlike,
Scowling brows were never seen.
Those who worked got all they made,
Those who shirked got none at all;
Everyone did what he chose,
None another did enthral.
In the days of hello-there
Hands that yours grasped for a shake
Did not hide a poisoned blade,
Cutting deep for vengeance sake.
Every heart beat tunes of love,
Every mind with joy was filled,
Grim Deceit had long been dead,
He by Frankness had been killed.
In the days of how-d'-you-do
Every door stood open wide;
Welcome bade you enter there;
Goodly Cheer would then provide.
Idle Talk had been confined
To the cell of solitude;
81

Mrs. Grundy was no moreEvil tongues had been subdued.
In the days of come-again
Kindness met you everywhere;
Simple Graces gracefully
All your wishes filled with care.
Motherhood was counted good
In or outside of the laws;
Love was free to do its will,
Church and State had lost their claws.

TIMES IS HARD.
Yes, times is hard, ye workinman,
An likely so ter stay,
Becaws yer hans is hard ez bone,
Yer hed a cock uv hay.
Yes, times is hard, ye merchantman,
An will be so ontil
Ye gits yer wooden hed in shape
An it with senses fill.
Yes, times is hard, ye aderfolk,
An may continer so.
Becaws the worker's pay is small
He can't go see yer show.
Yes, times is hard, ye lickerman.
Yer think it mitey queer?
Well, when the workers earn but bread
They got ter cut out beer.
Yes, times is hard, ye printerman;
The peepul is in need.
When idleness is lookin work
Taint got no time ter read.
83

Oh, times is hard fer all the folks
Thet aint no work ter do,
An who fer chance ter earn a bit
Depend upon the few.
So long ez folks will be content
Ez master an ez slave
Hard times is jist ez sure ter cum
Ez wetness is with wave.
Now, git a move onto yerselfs
An do what sense commands:
Ye'll find hard times 's from ownin things
Not made by human hands.

THE HIRELING'S FEAR.
Had I no wife or children, no one to give support,
How free I'd be from bosses and all who freedom
thwart!
My wife and babes are luxuries for which I
dearly payWith independence, peace of mind, my ease,
alackaday!
Suppose the bosses would combine and put me
on the list
That's black as hell and swear by God they'd
grind me up as grist.
They know the hungry wolf of want stands
watching eagerly
To pounce upon my helpless ones if I resentful
be.
I am no coward, lacking nerve, no sneak or
fawning cad;
No fainting heart thumps in my breast, nor is
my temper bad;
So when the boss is rude or raw, presuming on
my plight,

My manhood rises to my mouth and with brave
words I smite!
*When he presumes to crack his whip, as a master in a ring,
I hate his mien, and lion like I growl at the
sting.
But when he threats the blacklist, and hints that
I must go,
The prospeas of beloved ones fill me with
wretched woe.
Ah! could I but get my fellow slaves to fall into
my scheme
We'd cut the ground from 'neath the boss and
end his raw regime!
We'd fill the army with our kind, convert the
navy's crew,
Policemen (who are human yet) with kindness
we'd imbue.
As full as sunny days of light we'd have our
fellows filled
With liberty and righteousness-true manliness
distilled;
86

And then we'd simply say to boss-of whatever
kind or name"We'll use the tools which we have made, and
Nature's gifts reclaim;
"We'll work together, making things that all of
us can use,
Dividing up in equity-each one his rightful
dues,
And if you don't just like it thus we'll make you
overseer,
So all can profit by joint skill and profits disappear,
As when a valley's leveled up and hills are
leveled down
Each then becomes more useful for tillage and
for town."

THE MOTORMAN.
He holds the break with hands of steel
To save you from the cruel wheel;
He watches with an eagle eye
And clangs the gong for passers-by;
The toddlers on the street ahead
He draws anear with chilling dread;
The teamster leering on the track
Puts patience on the rending rack;
The maids who backwards will alight
Distort his face with helpless fright;
His heart he carries in his mouth;
Of rude ordeals he has no drouth;
His nerves are shocked, his muscles irk.
He's naught to do but watch and work.
Then for the motorman let's pray,
As misfortunes plenty come his way.

WHAT IS A BOSS?
A boss, my boy, is one who lords
It over other men,
As tho of better mud was made,
Of deeper sense and ken.
He tries to make those under him
Feel mean and low and poor,
So he can do whate're he wills,
To make his job secure.
Or he may be a sycophant
To other men less raw,
Their dirty work to court and do,
Their hirelings to awe.
It would, you know, quite never do
To have equality,
For then the boss could not survive,
No little czar could be.
So long as property exists
In nature's gifts to man
The boss will be an incubus,
A bar to freedom's plan.
89

THE SOCIAL SNEAK.
Intrude your confidence on boss
And tell him all you know,
Get chummy with him, make him gifts,
And fawning smiles bestow.
Don't fail to "knock" your working mates,
Your own small worth enlarge,
And every independent mind
Plug slyly for discharge.
When boss demeans to tell a tale,
Tho it be stale and bum,
Laugh loudly and with feigned delight.
This makes you solid some.
Buy what the boss has got to sell
And keep well in his debt;
Swell big his unearned increments,
Tho others fag and sweat.
Consider it a golden boon
To work for this one boss,
And lose no chance to tell him so,
His vanity to gloss.
90

The kind of boss these things cajole
Of course is 2x4,
But what care you for size or worth
So he makes big your score!
Forsooth, 'tis not a manly man
Who cringes and cajoles,
But, bless your heart, the world is full
Of persons without souls.
One sensitive and justly proud
Is wanted not at all,
And so to keep his servile job
He manhood gulps with gall.
When hirelings get sense enough
They'll do the senseful bout
By socializing social things,
And boss and flunkies rout!

A FORECAST.
The boss' face in the morning
Is always a sure warning
Of the weather's state
For the day.
If it be full of scorning
Then storms are surely borning
In the womb of fate.
Alackaday!
Woe then to the hapless wight
Who comes within his ugly might.
9:,

LABOR DAY.
What signifies this proudful holiday?
Is it merely for a pagentry of slaves
To masquerade in freedom's flattering garb
And thus their economic masters show
The fulness of their mighty strength,
Which on the hopeful morrow they will weave
And weld and fashion into demeaning luxuries,
That busy idleness may voluptuously revel
In the pomp and power of mastership?
Is it to have this gracefully winding throng
Along applauding streets, like a weary worm
Slowly crawl to some sequestered spot of velvet
green
For all too brief but restful hours
And their its worn and calloused body fill,
Its brawny, bruised and buffeted body,
With the glorious vigor of impartial nature,
Which glad sufficiency gives to all who may
partake,
And on the morrow be as bait
For the fishers of treasures unearned?
Is it to corral the finest of the human herd
93

In proud review and march them gaily forth
Before the censorious eyes of the complaisant
rich,
So the noble unruly may be secretly marked
As vidims of the industrial axe?
They who have an amplitude of charity and
soft goodwill
To cover all, like richly-pregnant dew,
May enjoy the doubtful luxury of trusting these
rueful thoughts untrue.
From the vertext of a kindly hope
I view it as a day of joyful furtherance
Of the age of golden dreamsThe dream of the Nazarene craftsman, that we
do to others as we would others do to us;
The Confucian dream of not doing to others
what we would not have done us;
The dream of Paul, when he who will not work
shall not eat;
The Aurelian dream, that none will meddle with
the affairs of others;
The dream of the commandments: Thou shalt
not steel! Thou shalt not kill!
And the dreams of the dreamers of all ages
94

(To whom in rugged comradeship I doff my
liberty cap),
When justice, freedom, fraternity shall be as
common as grass
And as teemful of joy as the sun;
When savage swords and guns shall refuse to
fulfill their wanton aim;
When greedy strife from very shame shall hide
its vulgar head;
When the weary sower may merrily reap;
When the glad reaper may surely have;
When the rightful owner may enjoy to the full;
When wisdom vill be the guide of manual toil;
When useful work alone will indicate nobility;
When the enjoyment of riches evidences the
flowering of desertful effort.
It will be Labor Day indeed
When the rich become richer in righteousness;
When then poor become poorer in denied
opportunities;
When the strong become stronger in helpfulness;
When the weak become weaker in wretchedness;
When the wise become wiser in wisdom.

SHALL WORKERS STRIKE?
Strike? Aye, my comrades, strike,
Strike with all your might;
Strike-when win you may, strike;
Strike for all that 's right:
Strike! late and early strikeMorning, noon and night!
Strike for the right to work;
Strike For liberty;
Strike hard against the shirk;
Bend to Thrall no knee;
Strike when conditions irk.
This is growth's decree.
Strike when the boss is rough;
Strike when pay is low;
Strike as a meet rebuff
To the workers' woe.
Strike long and hard enough
Drones to overthrow!
Strike against the landlord;
Strike against the thief;

Strike against the lendlord.
Bring despoilers grief;
Strike for peace and concord,
And for Toil's relief.
Strike for revolutionSlavery forswear;
Strike for restitutionTo retake your share;
Strike for some solution
To the wrongs you bear.
Let the revolution
Be bloodyless and fair;
And the retribution--
Unearned wealth forswear;
And the last solutionJustice everywhere!

THE LABADIE BOOKLETS
1)OGGERLL FOR THE UNI)ER )DOG.
THE REI) FLAG ANI) OTHER VERSES.
WHAT IS LOVE? AND OTHER FANCIES.
These are Booklets of Verse by Joseph A. Labadie.
Price 75c and $i, according to bindinng.
I WELCOME I1)ISORDER; SONG OF SELF; By Jo
Labaldie. For the asking and stamp, 5c each or
50o a dozen.
WIHAT THIINK YE OF CH1,RIST? By D. A. Roberts.
Vcrile verses. Ioc a dozen, 5oc a Ioo.
JESUhS \WAS AN ANARCHIST. By Elbert Hubbard.
2c stamp, 5c each or $2 a oo00.
These Booklets are home and hand made, done in
our little nonprofes.sional Shop, where things with wood,
bark, leather, paper, type, press, and so on, are made
as a recreation from the "'demnition grind" of the capitalistic system of industry, in which the Clock is a warning witch and the Boss a goad at the treadmill. Unique
leather handbags, baslkets, calendars, etc., are produced
principally for love, but some of them are sold to get
stuff to make more- with. They will boost who are in
sympathy with this modest little enterprise, in which
the boy and the girls anld mamma and I, during spare
hours, have lots of enjoyment schooling the hands and
mind, printing our own pieces, binding them into Booklets, painting chinaware, doing fancy work, sewing, and
singing songs for love and money. Those who can might
furnish the "dough" for those who can't. Pick out
what you want and send your address anyway; it'll be
all right. Whoever you are, whatever you are, whereever you are, I wish you well.
THE LABADIE SHOP,
74. Buchanan Street, Detroit, Alich.

KNOCKS AND BOOSTS
MR. BOOL'S ESTIMATE.
Dear Comrade Labadie:
The pretty little Books are to hand today. I thank
you. * * You are doing well. excellently well. These
leather-covered things are all that could be desired. * I
sat down and read '"What is Love?", did not let up
until 'twas done, and say, I'd rather have written that
thing than become rich in fact. The sentiment as well
as the jingle is all there. Your "A Word with You, My
Dear," is worthy of a Ruskin, I don't care who says nay.
I speak for myself, and dare to right out in meeting or
otherwise. These verses are replete with "thoughts that
breathe and words that burn." Your humanitarianism
crops out on every page. Haste the time when Love is
the base of every business. HENRY BOOL
It/aca, N. Y.
DR. THOMPSON LIKES IT.
Dear Comrade:
I have received the little book [What is Love?] on
the big subject, and I send you my thanks for the gift
and the comradely inscription. One of the finest things
in the bunch of goodness is the bit of prose at the beginning; the clear simplicity of word and sentiment is like a
New England brook-refreshing and joy-giving. All
we who love salute and thank you.
In the fine first poem I greet especially the words to
your comrade --the big, sane, sweet ideal of love. Tho
every man and woman flashes his crystal to catch from
some new radiant angle the colors of love's big sun, we
can have never too many love poems, as life can never
be too full of love. But we need above all to see its colors
in the revolutionary prism, and so you and Walt Whitman and just a few others are giving the very best of the
revolution-revolutionary love. Thank you, comrade,
for letting me see the flash. MAUD THOMPSON.
Ann Arbor, Mich. 99

"THOSE IDEAS. THEY'RE GRIPPING!"
Dear Mr. Labadie:
The hour is now 12 p. m. For the last two hours I
have been readiiig your attitude towards life in your
verses. To me they impart the thot that it is the easiest
thing in the world to love the man who wrote them.
Those ideas! They're gripping, and so human and
humane. BARNET G;EORGE BRAVERMAN.
Detroit, Jan. 23, 1911.
"DAM GOOD THINGS."
Pigeon-Roost-in-the-Woods, Indiana.
Dear Comrade yo:
Thank you ever so much for your pretty Booklets, so
artistic and beautiful. Have just read them. Some darn
good things in 'em, too. What fun you must have.
And so with love and blessings, ever yours faithfully,
BRUCE CALVERT.
Editer The Open Road.
A THOUSAND THANKS FROM DEBS.
My ) Dear Jo:
A thousand thanks for the Booklets and the gems they
contain and the inscriptions in1 your own good hand,
which give them priceless value! I shall enjoy them all
and cherish them all as loving souvenirs of your valued
comradeship. * * Love to you, and all good greetings, and all kind wishes. Yours always,
EUGENE V. DEBS.
Your poetry is rotten.-A. L. B.
Next to Charles Edward Russell I deem Mr. Labadie
the best revolutionary poet in this country. lie always
says something and much of it is said beautifully.-Dr.
M. T.
Charley Russell can't write poetry at all.--A. B.
100

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