AMERICAN WORKERS AND THEIR WORK

MAKERS OF THE FLAG

FRANKLIN K. LANE

This morning as I passed into the Land Office, the Flag dropped me a most [cordial salutation], and from its rippling folds I heard it say: “Good morning, Mr. Flag Maker.”

“I beg your pardon, Old Glory,” I said; “aren’t you mistaken? I am not the President of the United States, nor a member of Congress, nor even a general in the army. I am only a Government clerk.”

“I greet you again, Mr. Flag Maker,” replied the gay voice; “I know you well. You are the man who worked in the [swelter of yesterday] straightening out the tangle of that farmer’s homestead in Idaho, or perhaps you found the mistake in the [Indian contract] in Oklahoma, or helped to clear that patent for the hopeful inventor in New York, or pushed the opening of that new ditch in Colorado, or made that mine in Illinois more safe, or brought relief to the old soldier in Wyoming. No matter, whichever one of these [beneficent individuals] you may happen to be, I give you greeting, Mr. Flag Maker.”

I was about to pass on, when the Flag stopped me with these words:

“Yesterday the President spoke a word that made happier the future of ten million peons in Mexico; but that act looms no larger on the flag than the struggle which the boy in Georgia is making to win the Corn Club prize this summer.

“Yesterday the Congress spoke a word which will open the door of Alaska; but a mother in Michigan worked from sunrise until far into the night, to give her boy an education. She, too, is making the flag.

“Yesterday we made a new law to prevent [financial panics], and yesterday, maybe, a school teacher in Ohio taught his first letters to a boy who will one day write a song that will give cheer to the millions of our race. We are all making the flag.”

“But,” I said impatiently, “these people were only working!” Then came a great shout from the Flag:

“The work that we do is the making of the Flag.

“I am not the flag; not at all. I am nothing more than its shadow.

“I am whatever you make me, nothing more.

“I am your belief in yourself, your dream of what a People may become.

“I live a changing life, a life of moods and passions, of heartbreaks and tired muscles.

“Sometimes I am strong with pride, when workmen do an honest piece of work, fitting rails together truly.

“Sometimes I droop, for then purpose has gone from me, and [cynically I play the coward].

“Sometimes I am loud, garish, and full of that [ego that blasts judgment].

“But always, I am all that you hope to be, and have the courage to try for.

“I am song and fear, struggle and panic, and ennobling hope.

“I am the day’s work of the weakest man, and the largest dream of the most daring.

“I am the Constitution and the courts, the statutes and the statute makers, soldier and dreadnaught, drayman and street sweep, cook, counselor, and clerk.

“I am the battle of yesterday, and the [mistake of tomorrow].

“I am the mystery of the men who do without knowing why.

“I am the [clutch of an idea], and the reasoned [purpose of resolution].

“I am no more than what you believe me to be, and I am all that you believe I can be.

“I am what you make me, nothing more.

“I swing before your eyes as a bright gleam of color, a symbol of yourself, the pictured suggestion of that big thing which makes this nation. My stars and my stripes are your dream and your labors. They are bright with cheer, brilliant with courage, firm with faith, because you have made them so out of your hearts. For you are the makers of the flag and it is well that you glory in the making.”

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

Biography. Franklin Knight Lane (1864-⸺) was born near Charlottetown, Canada. While he was yet a small boy his parents moved to California, where he attended the State University at Berkeley, being graduated in 1886. Then he entered the newspaper field and became New York correspondent for a number of papers in the West. He was admitted to the bar at the age of twenty-five and practiced law in San Francisco. In 1913 he was appointed Secretary of the Interior in the Cabinet of President Wilson. “Makers of the Flag” is an address made by Secretary Lane, in June, 1914, before the five thousand officers and employees of the Department of the Interior.

Discussion. 1. Why did the Flag greet the author as “Mr. Flag Maker”? 2. Why are the Georgia boy, the mother in Michigan, and the school teacher in Ohio, Makers of the Flag? 3. Tell in your own words some of the things that Mr. Lane says the Flag is. 4. What does the Flag mean by saying, “I am all that you hope to be and have the courage to try for”? 5. How is the Flag a “symbol of yourself”? 6. Do you think that you are a Maker of the Flag? 7. In your opinion, what class of people are the greatest Makers of the Flag? 8. Pronounce the following: cordial; government; garish; ego.

Phrases

I HEAR AMERICA SINGING

WALT WHITMAN

I hear America singing, the [varied carols] I hear,

Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be, blithe and strong,

The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,

The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand singing on the steamboat deck,

The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as he stands,

The wood-cutters’ song, the plowboy’s on his way in the morning, or at [noon intermission], or at sundown,

The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work, or of the girl sewing or washing,

Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,

The day what belongs to the day—at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

Biography. Walt Whitman (1819-1892) was born in Huntington, Long Island, and educated in the public schools of Brooklyn. He left school at the early age of thirteen to make his own way in life. At different times he was school teacher, carpenter, builder, journalist, and poet. During the Civil War he became a volunteer nurse in and about Washington, D. C., and the story of his unselfish hospital service is one of the most inspiring that has come down to us from that war. Lincoln said of him, “Well, he looks like a man!”

Two points about Whitman are worthy of notice. The first is that he was a man of intensely democratic sympathies. He wrote of “the dear love of comrades” as the real means for bringing about a better understanding among men of every nation, a better government, and the end of war. He loved every part of America, and all America’s sons and daughters.

The word “democracy” constantly occurs in his poetry and his prose, and by it he means the cultivation of love and coöperation among men. He had a vision of the time when autocratic government, and all forms of selfishness, should cease among men; like Burns, he dwelt on the time when men all over the world should be brothers.

The second point is closely related to the first. In his dislike for conventional and exclusive life he objected even to the form developed for poetry through centuries. He was a lover of freedom, even in writing. So he rarely uses rimes and stanzas. He calls his form “chants,” and so they are, chants of human brotherhood and sympathy.

Discussion. 1. Who is it that the poet hears singing? 2. In stanza 1, what “varied carols” does he hear? 3. What do you think was the poet’s underlying idea in writing this poem? 4. Do you think that he meant to point out that the road to happiness is the road to work?

Phrases

PIONEERS! O PIONEERS!

WALT WHITMAN

Come my tan-faced children,

Follow well in order, get your weapons ready,

Have you your pistols? Have you your sharp-edged axes?

Pioneers! O pioneers!

For we cannot tarry here,

We must march my darlings, we must [bear the brunt] of danger,

We the youthful [sinewy races], all the rest on us depend,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

O you youths, Western youths,

So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship,

Plain I see you Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Have the elder races halted?

Do they droop and end their lesson, wearied over there beyond the seas?

We take up the [task eternal], and the burden and the lesson,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

All the past we leave behind,

[We debouch] upon a newer mightier world, varied world,

Fresh and strong the world we seize, world of labor and the march,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

We detachments steady throwing,

Down the edges, through the passes, up the mountains steep,

Conquering, holding, daring, venturing as we go the unknown ways,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

We primeval forests felling,

We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within,

We the [surface broad surveying], we the virgin soil upheaving,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

Colorado men are we,

From the peaks gigantic, from the great sierras and the high plateaus,

From the mine and from the gully, from the hunting trail we come,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

From Nebraska, from Arkansas,

Central inland race are we, from Missouri, with the [continental blood intervein’d],

All the hands of comrades clasping, all the Southern, all the Northern,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

O resistless restless race!

O beloved race in all! O my breast aches with tender love for all!

O I mourn and yet exult, I am rapt with love for all,

Pioneers! O pioneers!

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

Discussion. 1. Whom does the poet address in stanza 1? 2. What does he ask them if they have ready? 3. Why cannot they “tarry here”? 4. How does the poet characterize the “western youths”? 5. Why must the Pioneers “take up the task eternal”? 6. What new world do they enter upon? 7. Mention some of the tasks that the Pioneers must do. 8. Where do these pioneers come from? 9. Why does the poet mourn and yet exult?

Phrases

THE BEANFIELD

HENRY D. THOREAU

Before I finished my house, wishing to earn ten or twelve dollars by some honest and agreeable method, in order to meet my unusual expenses, I planted about two acres and a half chiefly with beans, but a small part with potatoes, corn, peas, and turnips.

Meanwhile my beans, the length of whose rows, added together, was seven miles, were impatient to be hoed, for the earliest had grown considerably before the latest were in the ground; indeed they were not easily to be put off. What was the meaning of this so steady and self-respecting, this small [Herculean labor], I knew not. I came to love my rows, my beans, though so many more than I wanted. They attached me to the earth, and so I got [strength like Antaeus]. But why should I raise them? Only Heaven knows. This was my curious labor all summer—to make this portion of the earth’s surface, which had yielded only cinquefoil, blackberries, johnswort, and the like, before, sweet wild fruits and pleasant flowers, produce instead this pulse. What shall I learn of beans or beans of me? I cherish them, I hoe them, early and late I have an eye to them; and this is my day’s work. It is a fine broad leaf to look on. My [auxiliaries are the dews] and rains which water this dry soil, and what fertility is in the soil itself, which for the most part is [lean and effete]. My enemies are worms, cool days and, most of all, woodchucks. The last have nibbled for me a quarter of an acre clean. But what right had I to oust johnswort and the rest, and break up their ancient herb garden? Soon, however, the remaining beans will be too tough for them, and go forward to meet new foes.

I planted about two acres and a half of upland. Before any woodchuck or squirrel had run across the road, or the sun had gotten above the shrub-oaks, while all the dew was on—I would advise you to do all your work if possible while the dew is on—I began to [level the ranks] of haughty weeds in my beanfield and to throw dust upon their heads. Early in the morning I worked barefooted, dabbling like a [plastic artist] in the dewy and crumbling sand, but later in the day the sun blistered my feet. The sun lighted me to hoe beans, pacing slowly backward and forward over that yellow gravelly upland, between the long green rows, fifteen rods, the one end terminating in a shrub-oak copse where I could rest in the shade the other in a blackberry field where the green berries deepened their tints by the time I had made another round. Removing the weeds putting fresh soil about the bean stems and encouraging this weed which I had sown, making the yellow soil [express its summer thought] in bean leaves and blossoms rather than in wormwood and piper and millet grass, making the earth say beans instead of grass—this was my daily work. As I had little aid from horses or cattle, or hired men or boys, or improved [implements of husbandry], I was much slower, and became much more intimate with my beans than usual.

It was a singular experience, that long acquaintance which I cultivated with beans, what with planting, and hoeing, and harvesting, and threshing, and picking over and selling them—the last was the hardest of all—I might add eating for I did taste. I was determined to know beans. When they were growing, I used to hoe from five o’clock in the morning till noon, and commonly spent the rest of the day about other affairs. Consider the [intimate and curious acquaintance] one makes with various kinds of weeds. That’s Roman wormwood—that’s pigweed—that’s sorrel—that’s piper-grass—have at him, chop him up, turn his roots upward to the sun, don’t let him have a fiber in the shade; if you do he’ll turn himself t’other side up and be as green as a leek in two days. A long war, not with cranes, but with weeds, those Trojans who had sun and rain and dews on their side. Daily the beans saw me come to their rescue armed with a hoe, and thin the ranks of their enemies, filling up the trenches with weedy dead. Many a lusty [crest-waving Hector], that towered a whole foot above his crowding comrades, fell before my weapon and rolled in the dust.

My farm outgoes for the season were, for implements, seed, work, etc., $14.72½. I got twelve bushels of beans and eighteen bushels of potatoes, besides some peas and sweet corn. The yellow corn and turnips were too late to come to anything. My whole income from the farm was—

$23.44
Deducting the outgoes 14.72½
There are left$ 8.71½

This is the result of my experience in raising beans. Plant the common small white bush bean about the first of June, in rows three feet by eighteen inches apart, being careful to select fresh, round, and unmixed seed. First look out for worms, and [supply vacancies] by planting anew. Then look out for woodchucks, if it is an exposed place, for they will nibble off the earliest tender leaves almost clean as they go; and again, when the young tendrils make their appearance, they have notice of it, and will shear them off with both buds and young pods, sitting erect like a squirrel. But above all, harvest as early as possible, if you would escape frosts and have a fair and salable crop; you may save much loss by this means.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

Biography. Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) was born in Concord, Massachusetts, and was educated in the village schools and later at Harvard University. He was an intimate friend of Emerson, Hawthorne, and the Alcotts. With the help of Emerson, he built a cottage beside a pond in Walden Woods near Concord where he lived alone, planted beans, caught fish, and for the most part lived on the products of the soil, cultivated by his own hands. In his book, Walden, or Life in the Woods, he gives a detailed account of his observations and experiences. Other books by Thoreau are A Week on the Concord and the Merrimack Rivers, The Maine Woods, etc.

Discussion. 1. Why did Thoreau wish to earn some extra money? 2. What seeds did he plant? 3. The author likens the hoeing of the beans to a “Herculean labor”; explain this reference. 4. What were Thoreau’s auxiliaries? His enemies? 5. According to the author, what is the best time to work in the garden? 6. How did he come “to know beans” so well? 7. Explain the metaphor referring to the weeds as Trojans. 8. How much did the author clear on his garden? 9. Do you think the amount made was worth the labor put into it? 10. Tell one of your experiences with a garden.

Phrases

THE SHIP-BUILDERS

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER

The sky is ruddy in the east,

The earth is gray below,

And, [spectral in the river-mist],

The ship’s white timbers show.

Then let the sounds of [measured stroke]

And grating saw begin;

The broad-axe to the gnarléd oak,

The mallet to the pin!

Hark!—roars the bellows, blast on blast,

The [sooty smithy jars],

And fire-sparks, rising far and fast,

Are fading with the stars.

All day for us the smith shall stand

Beside that flashing forge;

All day for us his heavy hand

The [groaning anvil scourge].

From far-off hills, the panting team

For us is toiling near;

For us the raftsmen down the stream

Their island barges steer.

Rings out for us the ax-man’s stroke

In forests old and still—

For us the [century-circled oak]

Falls crashing down his hill.

Up!—up!—in nobler toil than ours

No craftsmen bear a part;

We make of Nature’s giant powers

The slaves of human Art.

Lay rib to rib and beam to beam,

And [drive the treenails free];

Nor faithless joint nor yawning seam

Shall tempt the searching sea!

Where’er the keel of our good ship

The sea’s rough field shall plow,

Where’er her tossing spars shall drip

With salt-spray caught below,

That ship must heed her master’s beck,

Her helm obey his hand,

And seamen tread her reeling deck

As if they trod the land.

Her oaken ribs the [vulture-beak]

[Of Northern ice] may peel;

The sunken rock and coral peak

May grate along her keel;

And know we well the painted shell

We give to wind and wave,

Must float, the [sailor’s citadel],

Or sink, the sailor’s grave!

Ho!—strike away the bars and blocks,

And set the good ship free!

Why lingers on these dusty rocks

The young bride of the sea?

Look! how she moves adown the grooves,

In graceful beauty now!

How lowly on the breast she loves

Sinks down her virgin prow!

God bless her! wheresoe’er the breeze

Her snowy wing shall fan,

Aside the frozen Hebrides,

Or sultry Hindostan!

Where’er, in mart or on the main,

With peaceful flag unfurled,

She helps to wind the silken chain

Of commerce round the world!

Be hers the Prairie’s golden grain,

The Desert’s golden sand,

The clustered fruits of sunny Spain,

The spice of Morning-land!

Her pathway on the open main

May blessings follow free,

And glad hearts welcome back again.

Her white sails from the sea!

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

For Biography, [see page 60].

Discussion. 1. What does the title tell us? 2. Make an outline which shows what each stanza tells us of the ship-builders, for example:

Stanza 1—Morning; time for work.

Stanza 2—The smithy; work of the smith, etc.

3. What do the first four lines tell us of the time? 4. Note how much more they tell; what pictures do they give? What comparison do they suggest? 5. What line in the second stanza adds to the picture in stanza one? 6. In what sense is the smith working “for us”? 7. What does the “panting team” bring from the “far-off hills”? 8. With whose labor does the work of ship-building really begin? Read the lines which tell this. 9. Which line in the third stanza do you like best? 10. What comparison does the poet make between ship-building and other kinds of labor? 11. Is the “master” the only one responsible for making the ship obey the helm? 12. What is the subject of the verb “may feel”? 13. What dangers to the ship are pointed out? How may the ship-builders guard against these dangers? 14. Read the stanzas which urge honest workmanship. 15. At what point in the building of a ship are the “bars and blocks” struck away? 16. In what sense does this “set the good ship free”? 17. Read lines which tell of the ship’s work. 18. In what sense can the “Prairie’s golden grain” “be hers”? 19. What is meant by the “Desert’s golden sand”? 20. What poetic name is given to the Far East? 21. Read the lines that express the poet’s wish for the ship. 22. Select the lines in this poem that give the most vivid pictures. 23. Can you think of anything of which this ship may be the symbol? 24. Compare the poem with Longfellow’s “The Builders” (page 566) for a suggestion as to what the ship may represent. 25. Pronounce the following: sooty; scourge; helm; coral.

Phrases

THE BUILDERS

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

All are [architects of Fate],

Working in these walls of Time;

Some with [massive deeds] and great,

Some with ornaments of rime.

Nothing useless is, or low;

Each thing in its place is best;

And what seems but idle show

Strengthens and supports the rest.

For the structure that we raise

Time is with materials filled;

Our todays and yesterdays

Are the blocks with which we build.

Truly shape and fashion these;

Leave no [yawning gaps] between;

Think not, because no man sees,

Such things will remain unseen.

In the elder days of Art,

Builders wrought with greatest care

Each minute and unseen part;

For the gods see everywhere.

Let us do our work as well,

Both the unseen and the seen;

Make the house, where gods may dwell,

Beautiful, entire, and clean.

Else our lives are incomplete,

Standing in these walls of Time,

Broken stairways, where the feet

Stumble as they seek to climb.

Build today, then, strong and sure,

With a firm and [ample base];

And [ascending and secure]

Shall tomorrow find its place.

Thus alone can we attain

To those turrets, where the eye

Sees the world as one vast plain,

And one [boundless reach] of sky.

NOTES AND QUESTIONS

For Biography, [see page 80].

Discussion. 1. Tell in your own words what the first stanza means to you. 2. Find the line which tells that we must build whether we wish to do so or not. 3. Which lines show that we choose the kind of structure that we raise? 4. Upon what does the beauty of the “blocks” depend? 5. Mention something that could cause a “yawning gap.” 6. By whom are “massive deeds” performed? 7. By whom are “ornaments of rime” made? 8. Explain the meaning of the “elder days of Art” and mention some works that belong to that time. 9. Tell in your own words the meaning of the last stanza. 10. What do you think was Longfellow’s purpose in writing this poem?

Phrases