The More They Get

THE MORE THEY GET.

When laborers got a dollar a day,
They sweated hard for a picayune pay,
But now at a dollar an hours or so,
Did you ever see anyone work so slow?
The more they get, the less they do,
The more they get, the less they do;
Honest to goodness, isn’t it true
The more they get the less they do!

When profiteers used to be content
With a margin of seventy-five per cent,
They worked a little bit every year,
But never again will they work, I fear.
The more they get, the less they do,
The more they get the less they do;
Why work at all, when they’re working you?
The more they get, the less they do.

When a dozen eggs cost a shilling, about,
Every hen worked hard, day in and out,
But now that eggs are a dollar a throw,
Not a cackle occurs for a month or so.
The more they get, the less they do,
The more they get, the less they do;
Search the chicken-yard through and through;
The more they get, the less they do.

When an M.C. got three thousand a year,
A Congressional session was counted dear,
But we’d willingly pay any price per seat,
If only the Congress would never meet.
The more they get, the more they do,
The more they get, the more they do;
Do their constituents many or few,
The more they get, the more they do.

When Milton wrote his Paradise Lost,
He received five pounds as the total cost,
But now that poetry’s very much worse,
We get that much for a single verse.
The more we get, the less we do,
The more we get, the less we do.
Did you ever read Paradise Lost clear through?
That’s the reason the less we do!

(Copyright, 1919, N.E.A.)

Edmund Vance Cooke

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 30, 1919

The Red – Deport Them Now!

The Red

The Red he came
From Russia, where
The Bolsheviks
Wear tangled hair.
He came because
The eats were bad
In old Moscow
And Petrograd.

When he got here
And had a feed,
He started in
To trouble breed;
He howled about
The worker’s rights
And plotted with
His gang o’ nights.

For capitalists
He plotted woe,
The government
He’d overthrow.
Old Glory he
Would tear to shreds,
And with a club
Break copper’s heads.

But sad for Red
Old Uncle Sam
The lid on him
Put with a slam,
Which put an end
Unto his yell
And locked him up
In a stone cell.

And soon this Red
And all his bunch
Will be where there
Is no more lunch.
They’ll ship him to
His native place
Where whiskers will
Freeze on his face.

Good Uncle Sam
Has now got through
Of fooling with
This vice Red crew.
He’s after them
To beat the band,
And drive them out
Of this fair land.

– Brooklyn Standard-Union

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Nov 14, 1919

My Cellar

Image from flickr – millerm217

“MY CELLAR”

My cellar, ’tis of thee
Wondrous sub-treasury,
Of thee I sing;
Cave on your owner’s pride!
Hall where glad spirits hide!
To every bottle’s side,
Let cobwebs cling.

My sacred cellar, thee,
Pent-up perfumery
For lucky lungs!
I love thy flirting flasks,
Thy jugs, they jovial casks;
Heigh-ho, the tempting tasks
Of pulling bungs!
Let prohibition spread
Outside — above my head;
Down here all’s well!
Let mellow whisky flow!
Let neighbors come below!
This is the life, what-ho!
Who would rebel?

John Barleycorn, old boy,
They cannot kill they joy;
Hail, Nature’s pet!
Long last each home’s supply
– America’s gone dry?
Ho, what a jolly lie!
– We’re soaking wet!

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 3, 1919

Image from Leslie M.M. Blume

True Blue

Image from Going on 80

True Blue
The farmer may have whiskers, but
He is no Bolshevik,
The Reds they cannot fool him with
A propaganda trick,
He’ll never be a Socialist,
Or join the Trotzky clan;
He will remain just what he is,
A good American.

They’ve tried to win him over to
Defy his country’s law,
But farmer man just shakes his head
And firmly sets his jaw.
By heck, they cannot make him budge,
He is not built that way,
He’s a good and solid backer,
Of the old U.S.A.

They cannot get him out on strike
To plow and hoe the sticks;
He is agin’ all Anarchists,
All Reds and Bolsheviks.
So here is to the Farmer Man
With hayseed in his hair;
As true and good American
As you’ll find anywhere.

– Brooklyn Standard-Union.

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Nov 18, 1919

On Some Far Day

Image from Seventeen Moments in Soviet History

ON SOME FAR DAY.

Some day when there’s no Bolsheviks
With whiskers on their face,
And when of frowsy anarchists
There’s not a single trace.
Ah, that will be a happy time
For all the human race.
Some day when there is no peace pact
To talk about and fight;
When cost of living does not soar
Up higher than a kite.
Ah, that will be a happy day,
Indeed it will all right.
Some day when no one is on strike
And ev’ry man’s employed.
When boss and man by foreign Reds
No longer are annoyed.
Ah, then will come such happiness
We’ll all be overjoyed.
When Europe starts to go to work
To keep herself alive –
When to support her we’re not asked
To start another drive.
Then we’ll have something for ourselves,
And save some coin and thrive.
When each one goes his proper gait,
And does not push and shove;
When wrong for right has stepped aside,
And all is peace and love;
The chances are that nearly all
Of us will be above.

– Brooklyn Standard-Union.

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 2, 1919

Don’t Shirk

Image from The Great Humanitarian

DON’T SHIRK.

War’s wanton waste
Needs be replaced
By work — unflagging work!
Now the hour of haste,
Don’t shirk!

The starved seek food,
Not platitude.
Help banish gloom and murk!
List the hymn of gratitude,
Don’t shirk!

Somewhere men freeze,
Would take thy ease
And with the idle lurk?
Help now! Each moment seize,
Don’t shirk!

Uplift this world of ours again,
Be one of God’s real noblemen!
Let dreamers rant and smirk,
Of grit and pluck they are no ken,
Don’t shirk!

Each motto be: “I’ll help too.
Help to see the right go through,”
Such the Master’s work.
Then shall all men say of you:
“No shirk!”

– J.B. Foster in N.Y. Sun.

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 15, 1919

PEP

Lima News (Lima, Ohio) Apr 25, 1928

“PEP.”

This is the age of hustle, and there’s progress everywhere,
Why! We’re carrying “folks” and freight and mail
Away up in the air!
And the lad or lass with courage, initiative and pluck
Will put to rout, forever, that discouraging “tough luck.”
Achievement and expression; that’s the order every day,
Help yourselves, but others also “as we pass along this way.”
Hours fly when filled with worthwhile work, if tackled with a grin!
Just add it to your creed, my friend
You’ll be mighty sure to win!
Success and happiness you long for?
Really, truly want to “get?”
That elusive potent little word that’s labeled “pep?”
Well, here’s a tip, it’s old and new;
It’s that same little “up-to-you!
Don’t shirk, just work, and make our dream come true.”

– Beatrice Kramer, in Seattle Post Intelligencer.

Olean Evening Times (Olean, New York) Dec 30, 1919

*     *     *

*     *     *

Nebraksa State Journal (Lincoln, Nebraska) May 6, 1938

Peppy Fashion!

Nashua Reporter (Nashua, Iowa) May 26, 1937

Smart Suits Put Pep in Your Step!

New Castle News (New Castle, Pennsylvania) Jun 18, 1918

Peppy Feet!

Indiana Evening Gazette (Indiana, Pennsylvania) Feb 19, 1927

Prices to Pep You Up!

San Antonio Light (San Antonio, Texas) Mar 8, 1929

Minty Pep!

Lima News (Lima, Ohio) Aug 21, 1924

Hoarded Gold

Image from Simple Pastimes

HOARDED GOLD

How great a store of gold we own,
To men and governments unknown! –
No matter what may overcome us,
Gold nothing ever can take from us,
Gold hidden in a place apart,
Gold boarded in the human heart,
A larger store, a fairer treasure,
Than ever gave a miser pleasure.

What golden memories are yours
I know not, but I know endures
In er’ry heart some thought of someone
Not matter what may overcome one.
I know what memories are mine
Of nights of peace, of days divine,
The only treasure ever given
To man to take with him to heaven.

And then there is the gold we share,
The riches scattered ev’rywhere,
The yellow gold the morning brings us,
The redder gold the sunset flings us,
The golden feathers of a bird,
And many a gracious, golden word
Of lips of love, or friendship tender,
The gold we never need surrender.

(Copyright, 1934, by Douglas Malloch)

Sheboygan Press (Sheboygan, Wisconsin) Mar 2, 1934

Autumn Leaves

Image from Tumblr

THEY MAKE US SAD, THEN MAKE US GLAD

– J.T. Reese –

How old Nature sighs and grieves,
‘Cause she’s losing all her leaves!
All her gowns of red and brown
Say “Good-bye,” then flutter down.

Soon the trees look bare and cold,
In the park or in the wold;
Pretty leaves of brown and red
Silently just bow their head.

Pretty leaves just feign to die,
And the trees just weep and sigh,
For the leaves sleep in the brake
Like they nevermore would wake.

But when days are nice and warm,
No more you feel the winter’s storm,
The trees put on their stylish dress
And you admire their loveliness.

A leaf looked down at me and said,
“You supposed we leaves were dead!
Though we wither up and dry,
Yet we never truly die.”

Cambridge City Tribune (Cambridge City, Indiana) Nov 10, 1927

Cooking School

Image from Shorpy

Cooking School

By ANNE CAMPBELL

She used to go to cooking school
When she was just a little tike,
But never heeded any rule,
It was a class she did not like.

But now, absorbed in recipes,
Attending cooking school once more,
She heeds her teacher and agrees
That cooking is no menial chore.

It is a fine creative art –
This gift of fashioning a cake –
When to the beat of her young heart,
She stirs the batter for love’s sake.

Above the kettle’s humble song,
The cheerful clatter of the tins,
She hears bells ring and down a long
Aisle walks .  .  . The solemn hour begins!

And firmly her conviction grows,
She can more confidently brook
That sweet adventure if she knows
Herself to be a practiced cook!

(Copyright, 1939)

Syracuse Herald (Syracuse, New York) Apr 8, 1939