Chapter I: Part 1

Transcriber’s Note: Writings are ordered by category, then publication year (goal is earliest available at least with legible text), then alphabetically (ignoring “A”, “An”, and “The”). Investigation of spelling involved Google’s Ngram Viewer (//books.google.com/ngrams/). Appendix 1 was created for this book and is ordered alphabetically by title. Appendix 2 also was created for this book. Additional new material, and the compilation, are granted to the public domain. This plain text version of the book uses underscores (_) to denote the start and end of italicized text and equal signs (=) to denote the start and end of bold text.

COLLECTED WRITINGS OF CLARENCE EDWIN FLYNN

First Edition, 1929 and Earlier

PREFACE LIST OF WRITINGS BY CATEGORY WRITINGS APPENDIX 1: BYLINES, BIBLIOGRAPHY, NOTES APPENDIX 2: SELECTED QUOTES AND ZINGERS

“It is the glad service which lifts the world a little farther in its long, hard climb.” _The Obligation of Good Cheer_

PREFACE

What follows is a brief introduction to Mr. Flynn, his authorship of these writings, and how this book came about. From my research on his life, which I made available at //prabook.com/web/clarence.flynn/1084802, Clarence Edwin Flynn (1886–1970) was an American Methodist Episcopal clergyman, writer, hymnist and lecturer. He’s described as a “writer of stories, articles and verse appearing in periodicals and anthologies” and is “represented in anthologies of verse. General character writing, religious, educational.” [1] [2] [3] His writings (sans poems) appeared in more than 50 different domestic and international publications.

Were all of these writings authored by Clarence Edwin Flynn? I cannot say that is true with certainty, but I’ll offer the following support. Firstly, there’s moderate support in the fact that the middle initial “E” is used in all but two bylines; two bylines have no middle name or initial. Secondly, almost a third of the bylines offer strong support through the attributes mainly of title (e.g. Reverend) and locations that correspond with his biography. Thirdly, moderate to strong support can be found in the writings’ content, which is the basis for including more than half of the writings. Religious topics certainly offer strong support. As for the wide variety of other topics covered, the reader will find multiple cases where Reverend Flynn encourages preachers to broaden their knowledge and experiences in order to better serve their congregations. And if you find the content strong in the art of persuasion, Flynn was a member of the college oratory team. In conclusion, this brief analysis is limited by the absence of Clarence Edwin Flynn’s personal papers (their status is unknown to me).

How did this book come about? In short, the writings were collected during the primary process of collecting poetry. The longer explanation is in the preface to the book cited in the third footnote. As with the book of poetry, this is the inaugural collection of writings and is limited to those published in 1929 or earlier in accordance with a copyright rule governing works first published before 95 years ago.

[1] _Who’s Who in America: A Biographical Dictionary of Notable Living Men and Women_. Vol. 24, 1946–1947, Two Years. Chicago: The A. N. Marquis Co., 1946. p. 780 [2] Lawrence, Alberta, ed. _Who’s Who Among North American Authors_. Vol. 5, 1931–1932. Los Angeles: Golden Syndicate Publishing Co., 1931. p. 1089 [3] This collection of writings does not include poetry. I created a separate book of his poetry: Flynn, Clarence Edwin. _Collected Poems of Clarence Edwin Flynn_. First edition, 1929 and earlier. Jun 17, 2025. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76332

LIST OF WRITINGS BY CATEGORY

Categories are not mutually exclusive.

LIFTING THE ARTS

“It was an innocent-faced maid” (1906): Humorous anecdote

“A man entered a downtown street car” (1906): Humorous anecdote

The Modern Grandmother (1915): Humorous anecdote

The Opportunity and Peril of the Writer (1918): “He dare not fail to be a mouthpiece of truth.”

The Message of the Washington Monument (1919): “...it outlines the essential qualities of our people.”

The Post-War Outlook for Literature (1919): “The fundamental principles of life have not changed, but our attitude toward life and our application of those principles have changed mightily.”

Free Verse (1921): “It is one of the best outlets poetry can ever offer for the expression of the moods and thoughts of the human soul.”

Music and History (1921): “The issues of life have always proceeded from the heart, and the heart of any age expresses itself in its musical productions.”

Correspondence (1929): “As good correspondence is an art, so a good correspondent is an artist.”

LIFTING CHRISTIANITY

The Sabbath Desecration (1910): “We may well ask whence this great difference between our age and that of the preceding generation.”

The Light (1915): “In the life of man, [light] takes the form of the knowledge of the truth which makes him free.”

The Yoke (1915): “...the command of Jesus to accept and wear His yoke is often much more dreadful than there is reason that it should be.”

The Crowded Inn (1916): “[The story] has been the most tragic because it has represented the most widespread condition.”

The Price of Liberty (1916): “The tragedy of Calvary opened up the way to liberty....”

Paul’s Ideal Sufficient (1918): “Each social institution has one task to perform, and it will be found to be unable to perform more than that one task well.”

The Religion of the New Age (1919): “The facts of religion can not change, but humanity can achieve progress in rightly interpreting them and in rightly adapting itself to them.”

Christianity and Americanism (1920): “The perpetuity of the state depends most largely upon the very things for which the Christian religion stands.”

The Christian Program (1920): “[Realization of the Kingdom] therefore depends upon the passing from one to another of its master secret.”

Essay contributed to a symposium on “The Church and Young People” (1920): “Unless [the church’s status in relation to youth] is improved, the kingdom will become a victim of race suicide.”

The Message of an Empty Tomb (1920): “[Jesus’s] life had been a message of life triumphant.”

The Laboratory Test (1921): “...the only way to appraise [the Christian faith’s] real merits…”

The Nearness of Destiny (1921): “‛What you are to be you are now becoming.’”

Children and the Church (1922): “...we should assume that every child is...to be reared in its ways and teachings...until he wilfully forsakes it.”

The Church’s Fourfold Program (1922): Evangelism, education, social welfare, and finance

Newer Conceptions of Religion (1922): “We cannot alter the divine plan of life and redemption, but we can make progress in our understanding and use of it.”

The International Religion (1923): “As to whether God proposes to save the many or the few, it would seem to favor the first answer.”

The Great Teacher (1925): Vital things, simple and plain, and position clear

What Can We Believe? (1928): “One is made or unmade by his beliefs.”

The Christ of the Sea (1929): “He began at once promoting the kind of thing the practical world calls impossible because it is right.”

The Comrade Perfect: An Appreciation (1929): “...life is not all that it ought to be without the presence of the Personality which completes us.”

Four Addresses to Young People (1929): Christian service, communion with God, spiritual and practical leaders, and the church’s purposes

What Is Happening to Religion? (1929): “Eminent scientists announcing their faith in and support of religion are a growing company.”

LIFTING CHRISTIAN MINISTERS

Has the Day of Great Preachers Passed (1921): “The one standard by which he is measured is the question of his ability as an exponent of the Christian religion.”

The Heart Interest in Preaching (1922): “He has sensed the human side, and seen what it is that makes the need for preaching.”

The Great Compulsion (1928): “That was the last peaceful day he ever saw, for our peace is the price we pay for greatness.”

The Minister and His Reading (1928): “...the field with which the minister needs to be familiar is unlimited because it touches all the others.”

Preaching to College Students (1928): “[The minister] is dealing with adventurous minds whose one concern is truth.”

Some Problems of the Preacher (1928): “They have cost many a man his usefulness, and limited that of many others.”

The Ambassador (1929): “It is a wonderful thing to be a minister, because a minister is an ambassador of the Kingdom of God.”

Let the Minister Know Life (1929): “He needs to see, and hear, and know enough to understand the mind and heart of the world.”

The Yielding of Aaron (1929): “...the adaptation of the principles and standards of religion to public tastes, ideals, and desires.”

LIFTING COMMUNITY

The Necessary Asset—Friends (1917): “The most valuable friend is the friend who is one for friendship’s sake alone.”

Building a World Brotherhood (1918): “In [Jesus’s] estimation of things, a man was a man. He could be no more and there was no disposition to ever rate him as less.”

The Laughing Man (1919): “My lords,” he said, “I bring you news—news of the existence of mankind.”

The Safe Foundations for a League of Nations (1919): “If the hearts of men are not right toward one another, the vision of peace will be as idle a dream as it was in the past years.”

Is It Nothing to You (1929): “By all these things we and ours are profoundly affected. Why should we not care?”

What Makes a City? (1929): “The greatest factor [in what makes a city is] the care it takes of and the safeguards with which it surrounds its people.”

LIFTING ECONOMICS

Capitalizing War for the Tobacco Trade (1919): “This is always done in the name of patriotism, even though the effect may be altogether antipatriotic.”

Creating a Demand (1919): “...helping to build that larger and better commercial world in which all business will be at its best because all people are at their best.”

Should Prices Be Standardized? (1919): “In other words, it would lift the markets above the gambling level.”

The Home Budget (1920): “It enables the poor to keep from growing poorer, and often enables them to reach comfortable circumstances.”

Efficient Spending (1921): “Between the hoarding of money...and the reckless habits of the spendthrift...lies this golden mean.”

LIFTING EDUCATION

The Three Agencies in Child Training (1909): “...the aim of each should be the perfection of personality.”

The Association of Mind and Muscle (1918): “As knowledge becomes a matter of action, it becomes a matter of purpose, ideal, and character.”

The Sound-Reproducing Machine as a Music Teacher (1919): “The taste of the listener is on its way to better things.”

The School Teacher and the Republic (1920): “The nation cannot recognize its obligation to the teacher too soon or too completely.”

Some Overlooked Compensations in Teaching (1920): “[The teaching profession] places in the hands of those who choose it privileges which many of the rich would gladly give their gold to obtain.”

Dollars Versus Sense (1921): “...preoccupation with material things. Minds become cloyed; hearts grow dull; and souls grow no wings with which to lift themselves above the mire and the clay.”

Education and Production (1921): “The accepted canon in educational circles is that a man is not trained at all unless trained to be good for something, and that he must prove his culture by bringing forth fruits meet for it.”

The School as a Reform Agency (1921): “Whatever the future contains, the school teacher holds the key to it.”

LIFTING HUMANITY

The Same Face (1915): “Along our years motherhood has planted three pictures that are so good for us to see that love and memory should always keep them bright.”

The Will (1915): “The will of man is not only his danger, but it is also his hope.”

The Sword that Keeps the Past (1916): “There is only one way to change the past, and that is to change it before it becomes the past.”

The Fountain of Youth (1917): “Such as it is, it exists everywhere.”

Some Principles of Efficiency (1917): “One has but one chance at this life, and he has a right to make that one effort the best possible.”

The Story of the Red Cross (1917): “One of the strongest forces now making for a day of lasting peace is the beautiful suggestion that comes from the spirit of those who make it their aim to help while others destroy.”

Words (1917): “The power of uplifting speech and the right to enjoy helpful conversation are high privileges.”

The Line of Necessity (1918): “It is the unnecessary that changes bare existence into throbbing and purposeful life.”

Some New Facts About Alcohol (1918): “Whether in the workshop or in the military camp, liquor and efficiency are sworn and uncompromising foes.”

Facing the Future (1919): “The race is still achieving some progress, however, and most of us still believe that the most promising days of civilization are yet to be.”

Life’s Backgrounds (1919): Character, preparation, and relationships

The New Philosophy (1920): “...philosophers feel a growing realization that advancement is the proper aim of human endeavor, and that the vital problem of Philosophy is human welfare and progress.”

The Sense of the Human (1920): “Humanity is the center of all creation, and the proper object of all our striving.”

The Holy Spirit and Social Viewpoint (1922): “The salvation of the group can only be accomplished by the salvation of the individuals who compose it.”

Civilization (1929): “denying themselves and their families the joy”

The Road Uphill (1929): “successively better generations”

LIFTING VIRTUE

Some Stories About Beethoven (1915): “He placed the claims of life, right, and truth in a place of supremacy over all other claims.”

The Obligation of Good Cheer (1916): “Whoever has a cheerful disposition has that much of a start toward positive and complete goodness.”

Worship and Service (1916): “He who would die in the spirit of the cross must live there.”

Do It Right (1917): “...the maxim which pointed the way to their mutual success.”

Life’s Handicaps (1918): “Along whatever way one’s path may happen to lie, ...his life would be utterly unnatural if it were devoid of difficulties.”

The Riverside (1918): “It is not what we would like to do in this life, but what we really get done that counts.”

Determinants (1921): “The nature of a man can be altered or reversed.”

Love’s Burdens (1921): “In some unfeeling, intellectually ideal republic, such a pitiful piece of human wreckage might have been cast upon the junk heap.”

The Successors of Tantalus (1921): “Yet these unrealized hopes are among the most valuable experiences we have.”

The Christian Standard of Greatness (1922): “‛If any man would be first, he shall be last of all and the servant of all.’”

The Objective of Service (1922): “Humanity is, therefore, the most important object to which our interest and service can be dedicated. It represents both the divine problem and the human task.”

Our Blessings of Deliverance (1922): “No less important than the things which we have been given are the things from which we have been saved.”

The Redemption of Jean Valjean (1922): “[Victor Hugo] furnishes us a master picture of the upward struggle of a soul despite the influences acting within and without to keep it down.”

Eulogy for Joseph E. Henley [excerpt] (1924): “we have none too much of simple human kindness”

The Corner Stones of Life (1925): “Any product that has in it only the very best of materials suggests just one thing—character.”

Eulogy for Sanford F. Teter [excerpt] (1928): “He passed through the fire, but he did not let it burn away his courage...”

MISCELLANEOUS

Is Prohibition Paternalistic? (1919): “Freedom needs to recognize its own proper limits, and it will do so in any properly organized social system.”

Vibration as a Basis of Invention (1919): “Nature probably holds some provision for our every want. We need only to establish the means by which she can deliver her gifts to us.”

WRITINGS

“It was an innocent-faced maid” (1906)

It was an innocent-faced maid who stood at the postoffice window Saturday and asked in the tone of one seeking a bargain, “Have ye any postage stamps?”

“Certainly,” replied the obliging clerk. “How many?”

“Let me see them, please,” was the answer, and the stamps were produced for inspection. “I don’t quite like the color of these,” she said. “Don’t you have any two-cent stamps of a lighter shade?”

“Only one kind of two-cent stamps are made, Miss.”

“Then I think I shall take one-cent ones. I like green better than such a bloody red. I am a Quaker, and it is too suggestive of war. Can you sell me six for five cents?”

“No, indeed, Miss, the price of stamps is fixed regularly.”

“Then I shall try elsewhere. Please don’t be offended. I will come back here if I can’t get them cheaper anywhere else.”

And still with the bargain-hunting air, the innocent-faced maid took her departure.

“A man entered a downtown street car” (1906)

A man entered a downtown street car one day last week. The car was full, and he was obliged to hang onto the strap and ride in the midst of a crowd of good-looking girls, most of whom were either “would-bes” or “has-beens.” The conversation soon started in his direction, and in secret tone, just loud enough for him to hear, they discussed the new arrival.

“Hasn’t he the most lovely hair?” one of them exclaimed in a whisper that was halfway between awestruck and tender.

“It couldn’t be Nicholas Longworth, surely. No, I know it isn’t, for Longworth is baldheaded. He must be some great actor—or—politician,” said another.

“Oh, he is just my ideal,” put in a third. “For twen—no, I mean three long years I have sought just such a one, for such a one alone could I love and trust.” Young and innocent Jennie was evidently studying for the stage, and she continued: “He must be some great musician. What if he were Pa—”

But just here the car stopped, and as the patient-looking passenger prepared to get off, a frowzly head popped out the door of a tumbledown dwelling close by the track. The head was quickly followed by a red Mother Hubbard, and a shrill voice called in far from pleasant tones: “Git off o’ that car, and come on here an’ git a few o’ these kids still. You’ve loafed roun’ in them good clothes an’ flirted with girls on street cars enough for one day.”

And as the sad-faced passenger wearily left the car, a sigh escaped all the girls at once. Alas! the course of true love never did run smooth.

The Modern Grandmother (1915)

The Boy: I stopped in to tell you that my grandmother—

The Boss: Well, I suppose your grandmother has passed away and is to be buried this afternoon about time for the game.

The Boy: Oh, no, sir! My grandmother is coming by to take me to the game, and I want to know if I can get off to go with her.

The Opportunity and Peril of the Writer (1918)

We have grown accustomed to consider history as being made by the decrees of kings or by the power of invading and defending armies. These things are, however, only the instruments of the one really compelling social force. That force is the power of public opinion. History is made by those who direct and control it. This is the reason for the power of the pulpit, the platform, and the press. Of these three, the power of the press touches the largest number of people. The writer sends out an influence which reaches to the ends of the earth.

This fact points the way to a conception of both his opportunity and his peril. His opportunity is the direction of a power which not even kings can long dare to defy. His peril is that he may fail to direct it into the right channels. He may guide it in such a way that it can carry the race steadily toward a day of complete justice for all. On the other hand, he may listen to some lesser voice than that of truth, or seek some lower aim than that of right, and thus lead the thinking of the world astray. The opportunity is glorious and the peril is serious, because men will become what they think, and the world will conform to what they become. Thought life is fundamental.

In the midst of an age of war, the world is struggling for peace. The law of the jungle ceased to be the recognized principle of history, and war lost its standing as a means of obtaining justice because of the efforts of a man to guide public opinion by means of a book. No one could have conquered militarism with a sword in the old days, and it is doubtful whether it can be done now, but the strong silent force of enlightened opinion can do it.

The history of modern international law as a basis for the preservation of peace among nations really began with the publication in 1625 of a book entitled _De Jure Belli et Pacis_. It was written by a Dutch publicist by the name of Hugo Grotius. This book came from the press in the midst of the Thirty Years’ War, and it began a process of leavening the popular mind with the idea that justice can be obtained by peaceable means. The end of that process will yet be the complete triumph of international law over international strife. It was the pen of a writer which was used as the original instrument for the blazing of the path to an age of concord and fraternity.

The great literary need of the present day is for a man who can snatch the torch from the dead hand of Grotius and bear it a little farther. He will not receive high praise from the militaristic camp, but his efforts will be appreciated by those who really love their country enough to desire its preservation from the blasting blight of war. Some gifted pen will yet inoculate the popular mind with an ideal of peace and brotherhood which will make war forever impossible.

No one will ever be able to measure correctly the influence which the pamphlets of Thomas Payne had in the crystallization of the sentiment which held the early American patriots to their cause. The historians have not neglected, however, to give them large credit in their final reckonings. They provided a sort of mental artillery, making possible the work of the advancing sword of a Washington.

The break between the sections was healed with mortar which was mixed not only with the blood of the soldier, but also with the pen of the writer. The one thing lacking for years was the decision of the popular will to settle once for all the difficulty between the states. One day in June of 1851 there appeared in Gamaliel Bailey’s paper, _The National Era_, the first installment of a story entitled _Uncle Tom’s Cabin, or Life Among the Lowly_. It was written in the spare time of the busy wife of a theological professor, and she herself did not take it very seriously at the time of its publication. The result was, however, that in less than a decade public opinion had crystallized, and the sections were ready for the test. The rest of the story needs no telling, but the memory of Harriet Beecher Stowe deserves to have it said that the history of America in that time of crisis was largely moulded by the hand that held the pen.

Several years ago a Federal investigation disclosed a highly unsanitary condition in the large packing plants of the country. The lack of sufficient pressure in the form of public opinion left Congress very slow to take definite action concerning it. Then Upton Sinclair’s story, _The Jungle_, came from the press. As soon as the public had read the book a great popular clamor went up, demanding that something be done. The result was a system of pure food rulings which has been very satisfactory and far-reaching in its results. A great industry was cleaned up, and the health and lives of thousands of people have been saved by the work of a wielder of the pen. The sword can only destroy, but the pen can do a better thing. It can save.

Germany has long recognized the power of the writer in the moulding of history. She has made a large use of it in her attempts to build the history of the future to suit herself. This is evidenced not only by the fact that she has flooded the world with mischievous and deceptive propaganda during the present war, but also by the fact that such was her policy long before the beginning of the war.

Nearly a decade ago a German professor published a book which emphasized the horrors of war. It was profusely illustrated with pictures of the bloody scenes of the battlefield and of the inevitable hardships of the military life. It was an evidence of an undercurrent which runs even in German thought, but which only the bolder few ever allow to go to the extent of public expression. The result of the publication of the book was the prompt suppression of it by the German government.

Shortly afterward another book dealing with the subject of war was published in Germany. It was written by the Crown Prince who is now fighting so anxiously for his own future. It likewise was highly illustrated, but its pictures emphasized the glories of war. They were of dress parades and the more pleasant aspects of the life of a soldier. The publication of this book received every encouragement the government could give it. It was, of course, an official expression of the militaristic policy of the government itself.

There is a sense in which literature mirrors life, but there is also another sense in which life mirrors literature. Social conditions and new historical epochs are always the outgrowth of the popular thought and spirit. One of the firmest hands upon the floodgates which control these things is that of the writer. He can produce an age of unrest or an age of calm contentment. He can make a period of faith or one of unbelief. He can mould an era of mortality or one of unrestraint.

It does not matter what is the form of his work. It does not even matter whether it is serious and pretentious. It affects the thought and, therefore, the life of the world. A printed jest once determined the result of a national election. A derisive term applied by the editor of an enemy paper once elected a man president. The recorded and unrecorded history of every age is full of just such instances.

The writer accepts a momentous responsibility. It is desirable to receive editorial checks, but his work means vastly more than that. The people will read what he writes; many of them will believe it; at least some of them will act upon it. It will travel to unsuspected places, and it will affect the lives of those whom he will never see either for weal or woe. His pen is an instrument of fate. It is highly essential that he use it with a careful hand and with an honest purpose. He dare not fail to be a mouthpiece of truth.

The Message of the Washington Monument (1919)

A few minutes from the South Portico of the White House, overlooking the majestic sweep of the Potomac, stands the tallest piece of marble masonry in the world. It commemorates the life and deeds of the Father of His Country. At its foot is a good place to stand and think for a while, as I did one spring afternoon.

The architect who planned the Washington Monument could not have more fittingly characterized the man of whom it stands as a memorial. Every line of its vast form, stretching from the ground to more than six hundred feet above the level of the river, breathes the spirit of the statesman and soldier whose leadership is an essential part of our early history.

That long stretch of Maryland marble, capped with its apex of aluminum, does more, however, than to memorialize and interpret the character of Washington; it outlines the essential qualities of our people. They were well typified in Washington. They are, therefore, well typified in a monument which symbolizes his nature. It is at once a picture of their past and a prophecy of their future.

It combines simple plainness with rugged strength. One cannot look at it without thinking of the spirit of the pioneer. The picture of the pilgrims facing the dangers of an unknown wilderness, that of the embattled farmers at Concord, and that of the men who have borne the burdens of the Republic throughout the years each rises into view. We have had hard tests in the past. We are facing what may yet be harder ones in the future. No other spirit than that of simple, rugged Americanism could prove sufficient for either those past or those to come.

The strongest point of America has always been the spirit of her people. She has amassed a national wealth which has become a wonder to the world. She has built up a great army and a magnificent navy. She has gained a place in the councils of the great world powers. She has never reached a place, however, where she can afford to place such reliance upon any other power as upon that of the spirit and ideals of her people.

American guns were only an incident in the Revolution. They would have been failing weapons in the hands of many. They won their cause, however, because they were carried in the hands of men whose souls were throbbing with the power of a great conviction. They had the toughness, the courage, the bravery, and the nerve of the pioneer, but they had more than all these. They had the consciousness of a worthy cause. They knew they were fighting for all that was dear to them. They had homes to defend, a principle to vindicate, and a future to achieve. These things enabled them to show the world how men can fight when all that they are has been staked on the struggle.

We still need guns and armies, but we need never hope to graduate from the fundamental necessity for sturdy and courageous men. The kind of men who have been our salvation in the past and who are our hope for the future are always found where habits of plain and rugged simplicity prevail. However sophisticated our thinking may become, we need to ever cultivate the kind of physical frames which are developed by plain living and high thinking. Where Rome placed softness and self-indulgence we must always keep the simple and wholesome ideals which proved so mighty in the lives of our fathers.

Another thing to be noted about the Monument is the fact that it stands foursquare to all the winds. Its ideal of plainness decreed that it should be so. There are no tricky twists in its plan. Its architecture has no place for merely decorative turns. There is not a deceptive line nor a hint of anything superficial.

The habit of being real deserves a place among the chiefest of all virtues. No one ever gained anything by any measure of pretense and unreality. No nation ever bettered either itself or the world by any process of deception and sham. We can no more outgrow the necessity for truth and honor than we can outdistance that for plain living and high thinking.

In accordance with this long-standing characteristic, America is leading the world in its stand against shady intrigues and secret treaties. When that principle has been vindicated in the conduct of the nations we shall begin to be able to feel that Mars has been left behind the chariot of civilization forever.

Another thing to be noticed about the Monument is the fact that it reaches high but it is founded deeply. From just beneath its aluminum cap the ground seems very far away. From the base its apex seems to be pushing itself through the clouds and piercing the sky beyond them. It is a connecting link between earth and sky, between the common and the lofty, between the practical and the ideal.

Two people fail to get more than half the meaning and the joy of life. One is the star-gazer, so enraptured with his visions that he is blind to life’s practical realities. The other is the extreme realist, so fearful of the fanciful that he will not lift his eyes from the mud at his feet and take a look at the glories which hover about the hill of vision.

The American viewpoint is represented by neither alone. It is represented, rather, by a combination of both. As the Monument stands with its feet firmly planted in the clay, but with its top among the stars, the national spirit is best typified by the man who keeps his plans firmly fixed among practical things, but who also keeps his thinking at the high level of splendid dreams, worthy ideals, and inspiring visions.

We have achieved such marvelous progress as a nation largely because we have busied ourselves with real things. We have taken hold of things and conditions as we found them, and have made the best of them. We have been the better able to do so, however, because we have not forgotten the things of the unseen world about us. Our dealing with practical things has been blessed by the treasuring of spiritual ideals and the following of worthy dreams. Our place as a nation is largely the result of this union of hope and thing, this combination of dream and realization, this blending of the ideal and the practical.

The Post-War Outlook for Literature (1919)

The true writer is a sort of social seismograph, sensitive to every change that takes place in the life of the race. Literature is, therefore, the record in which is told the story of social movements, the mirror which reflects the history of the ages. The peace and strife, the faith and unfaith, the love and the malice of all the past lives in the literature which it has produced.

The great war was preceded by a period of fermenting stagnation. It was a period of suppressed restlessness and hidden fears. The little eruptions on the surface of its seemingly placid literature bespoke the deeper feelings and hidden gropings of the time. At length the pent-up fury of things burst into a volcano of war.

The war produced a literature of its own. It ran like a golden thread through the vast mass of ordinary war propaganda. Most of the propaganda was of mere brain origin, but the real literature of the war was born in the depths of the tried souls of men.

One day I had occasion to mention to a friend the spiritual cost of the war. I remarked that in addition to all that the struggle had cost us in money, and even in blood, we had paid an unutterable price in the loss of brains that were born to think, souls that were made to dream, and lips that were fashioned to sing. She promptly replied that, while this was true, the war had awakened a great many minds to thoughtfulness, taught a multitude of souls the magic secret of weaving the fabric of dreams, and put a song into many lips that had hitherto been dumb.

She was right. Many singers and tellers of tales went down in the crash of things, but out of it came many others who had been reborn. The war has invigorated literature for a long while to come. We shall not soon see another stagnant age.

Having had a war literature, we now face the period in which is to be born a post-war literature. It is a common thought among people everywhere that during the years between 1914 and 1918 the elements melted with fervent heat. The old world has been done away, and all things are ready to be made new. The outlines of seas and continents are the same as before, but the viewpoint, outlook, and general consciousness of the race are totally changed. It could hardly seem more so if we had been bodily transported to another planet. The new age will express itself in a new literature—a reconstruction literature.

The literature of pre-war writers already seems to belong to a very remote time. Scott, and Thackeray, and Dickens will never lose their literary excellence, but the time has already come when their work seems to belong to another world. The fundamental principles of life have not changed, but our attitude toward life and our application of those principles have changed mightily. A broader interpretation of them is now a necessity. This service must be rendered by the pen of the writer.

Writers can now turn their attention from the production of propaganda and concern themselves more vitally with the real mission of the author. The world will warmly welcome, be it also said, a time when it may feel that the writer of its reading matter had no axe to grind in the writing.

The German Empire offered an instance of the sad extent to which the pen can be prostituted for propaganda. Education, Science, Philosophy, and Literature were all made to serve the selfish ends of a party struggling to build a super-state upon a foundation of self-interest. At such a time, the soul of greatness dies from any land. Those who usher in such periods dig the grave of pure literature by the purchase of its makers.

The wielder of the pen is now able to face the problems of life and deal with the principles of truth with an open mind. This has not been true with most since the war began. The weakness of human nature overcame many minds which before the war had manifested commendable poise and evident sincerity. In Germany and in almost every other country as well, erstwhile careful thinkers seemed to cast to the winds all the calmness of reason and temper of soul they had ever possessed. There was a perfect Babel of efforts to prove that all the right was on one side and all the wrong on the other. Butchers were whitewashed into angels, and champions of justice were caricatured into buffoons by pens which were supposed to be dedicated to the telling of the truth.

During the year 1916, a German anthropologist published an article in which he proved, to his own satisfaction, that to be a Frenchman necessarily meant to be a moral degenerate. During the same year, a French anthropologist proved, with equal fervor and with equal satisfaction to himself, that to be a German necessarily meant to be a criminal lunatic. So long as such conceptions prevail in the minds of thinkers and investigators, there can be neither literature nor science of any dependable sort.

It may be some time before the squint of prejudice is entirely removed from the thinking of the various peoples involved in the war. Gradually, however, it must necessarily relax from its violence. Thinkers should now do their best to work with only truth for a standard. The saner our reconstruction writings prove, the more potent they will be. Nothing but truth can ultimately prevail.

While the war, as is always the case with wars, has caused much violent prejudice, and has led many talented people to defend a cause in forgetfulness of truth, it has at the same time performed one great service to literature. It has served to bring the work of writers on the various subjects down from the ethereal heights of mystical theory to the solid levels of plain thinking and everyday living.

In order to produce the materials and solve the problems necessary to the winning of the war, Science was obliged to turn its work into the most practical channels. No thoughtful person will insinuate that Science is useless since it has helped us in so many ways to save the day in a great national emergency. The completeness of the abandon with which scientific investigators and writers gave themselves to war problems is evidenced by the fact that at the 1917 meeting of the American Academy for the Advancement of Science, almost every address dealt with some problem incident to the war and the needs of the nation.

The trends in Philosophy and Theology were alike profoundly affected by the wartime spirit. In no single year of the past have these two departments of thought made such progress in their efforts to get down where men live and to deal with the problems which are real to people as they have made during either of the past two years. As a result, they are more intelligible, more helpful, and more widely adapted for vital use. Imaginary problems and arbitrary arguments have been largely laid aside. The literature of these least tangible subjects has come to deal with them in the most tangible way. It considers more and more the problems of everyday life and work.

There has been sown into the literature of the various nations a certain moral and spiritual element which is very indicative of the trend of human thought and desire. An unusual number of dramas, for instance, are dealing with moral and spiritual themes and principles. The situations with which the war brought men face to face caused some of life’s great questions to demand an answer. People who had long put those questions aside came to face them squarely. Out of our late experience, probably most people came with some intelligible attitude toward the supreme questions related to living and dying. Neither are we any longer afraid to face them either in books or upon the stage.

The literature of the new age may not be reflective, but it will be vital. The prophet of truth never faced such an opportunity as now.

Free Verse (1921)

We generally think of free verse as being a modern literary creation. Such is not really the case. That form of free verse which is now most in vogue, namely the form commonly called polyphonic verse, may be a comparatively new thing. At least it has been commonly familiar only during the last few years. The fundamental form of which it is but a variation is quite an old one.

Walt Whitman was a writer of a form of free verse in a literary generation now vanished. His “Blades of Grass” was the most unconventional thing done either in his period or those prior to it. This verse varies from our polyphonic prose of the present time, yet the spirit and general form are much the same. Whitman’s work awakened an abundance of discussion and criticism in his day. It survives because he had a message, and compared with the message of a poem, its form is only an incidental thing.

The blank verse forms, which are as venerable as they are familiar in our literature, are variations of the same general poetic pattern. As a rule, the most conservative of us are fond of holding up Shakespeare as a literary model for the centuries. We seem to have been about right in our estimate of him too, for his work certainly has evidenced a remarkable measure of immortality.

Yet the great body of the work of Shakespeare was of the unconventional type. It differed, of course, from the free verse of today, yet it was a forerunner of what is now being produced. Shakespeare contributed largely toward giving blank verse a lasting good name. He ventured to pay little attention to rhyme in an age when England was a nest of singing birds, and most of them were singing in rhymes and stanzas. He preserved his rhythm, it is true, but our modern free verse does that also.

It has a still older pedigree than Shakespeare. It appears in the earliest beginnings of the poetry of the English and of still more ancient peoples. The literature of the Hindus and Semites is full of it. From the earliest snatches of song recorded in the sacred writings of the Hebrews, the Bible has a wealth of poetry which suggests the modern form. Moses, David, and Solomon all used it. The Magnificat of Mary and the Nunc Dimittis of Simeon are both worthy of an honorable place in a modern magazine of free verse.

Rhythmic prose is, then, quite an ancient literary institution. It appears in two distinct grades and types. One is the simple, childlike, elemental form which marks the early stages of the life of a people. The other is the more polished form which represents the later period of culture.

The first is found in the early lore of most races, savage or semi-civilized. The American Indian had an abundance of it. The beginnings of the poetry of what are now the most civilized races also include a great deal of it. It represents that time in the life of a people when human feelings burst spontaneously into song. In such an age practically everyone is a singer, though not everyone can fashion fancy rhymes and stanzas.

Of the second form, we have abundant examples in our large and growing store of fine poetical work. We have simply swung back toward the freer forms which gave opportunity for the expression of the feelings of our earlier forefathers. We may have done so because we had feelings to express that seemed to demand such forms. We may have done so simply for the sake of variety. At any rate, we have done so.

This fact does not argue that any violence has been done to the quality of our poetic output. The present movement has simply changed the favored poetic form, for the time being at least. It may be that we have gone backward in some other things, but there is little to indicate that we have done so in relation to our poetry. The general run of American poetry today is of a very high order. Generally speaking, poetic art in America stands today at its highest level thus far.

The rhyme and the stanza belong to the period of highly studied form. They are ornamental, and, like fine lace, the weaving of them calls for great skill if it is to be well done. They often express commanding thoughts and emotions, but the outstanding thing about them is their form. Of course, if their form were their only value they would still be worth while. We cannot get on without beauty. It is true, however, that in the case of formal rhymed verse, the thought and message cannot so easily be at their best. Thought must often be limited and truth stilted by the necessities of form.

The free verse form offers an opportunity for the poet to break largely away from these narrowing limitations. It has been said that the prose writer is master of his materials while the poet is the slave of his style. Many a versifier has unintentionally fallen into a vein of grandiose expression which could hold little of sincerity and truth.

The intermingling of prose and verse qualities which we find in free verse makes it possible for the poet to be true to the finer shades of his message and its meaning. He is not bound by any fixed necessities of rhyme and meter. This probably accounts for the fact that we have seen expressed in this form the most rugged sentiments and, at the same time, the most delicate shading of artistry.

I once enjoyed a conversation with the late James Whitcomb Riley, wherein he spoke of the desirability of naturalness in poetry.

“Poetry should not sound stilted and constrained,” he said, “but natural and sincere. It should run along the same even and normal course that a high grade of every-day conversation does. One should not say, ‛the rippling brook along.’ He should say, ‘along the rippling brook.’”

One may notice in Mr. Riley’s work that the best of the poems he wrote during the period of his most serious work have just this quality. Consequently, they are rather free in their form. He does not break entirely away from rhyme and meter, but he does make them secondary.

This kind of work seems to hold its place longest. Probably the reason is that the message and not the form is the immortal part. Out of the past we have preserved a few high-sounding poems for their lilt and rhythm, but they are few and probably will be long outlived by others sounding a more genuine note. If anything of their kind was produced in the days of Moses or David, it has long since perished. Yet the great sentiments that swelled from the souls of these men and burst from their lips are still treasured among us. After all, it does not seem to be to the advantage of the poet to be abjectly the slave of his style. He seems to be all the better remembered when he is the master of his materials.

Some have the idea that free verse belongs in the same category with jazz music and cubist art, but it is not so. Free verse is no oddity. It is one of the best outlets poetry can ever offer for the expression of the moods and thoughts of the human soul. It is not the only form of poetry we should cultivate and preserve, but it is one that will have a real place in the great future of letters.

Music and History (1921)

It is often said that a nation’s life is mirrored in its literature. This is necessarily true because it is the mission of literature to express life. Even if such were not its purpose, the spirit of an age would naturally find its way into the writings of the period. Literature cannot but be a true reflection of the age which produces it.

The same is true of music in an approximate, if not an equal, degree. It also mirrors the life of the age from which it springs. Literature is a word picture of the life of its time. Music is a tone picture of the same thing.

A musical composition images the state of someone’s soul at a given moment. That condition of soul is a part of the great composite which we call the spirit of the times. It might about as well be called the personality of the age. It largely determines the thought, motive, and action of the period. It is the chief factor in the making of history. When one sees it spread out before him, he can almost write from it the story of the period represented. The issues of life have always proceeded from the heart, and the heart of any age expresses itself in its musical productions.

The great general types of music are all representative of either phases of human life or periods in its history. The age of great passions and majestic emotions produced the symphony. The day of calm devotion and religious faith gave us the oratorio and the hymn. The time of quiet ways and simple joys contributed the pastorale. The age of love brought us the lyric and the ballad.

These types of music we still have with us, for music is a permanent record. As we have them today, they tell us what the people of other ages have thought, felt, hoped, joyed, and suffered. We are now as busily engaged in building up a musical record of our times as they were in the making of a volume of work by which others might know their story when they were gone.

The Elizabethan period is outstanding in the history of English literature for the quantity and quality of the lyric verse which it produced. It has been said with entire truthfulness that during that period England was a veritable nest of singing birds. Among those who helped to produce that volume of song are William Shakespeare, Ben Johnson, and Christopher Marlowe. Thus far, the work done by the poets and singers of that period has successfully met all the tests of immortality. It is both read and sung throughout the English-speaking world.

The reason for the outstanding quality of the songs of that period is simply the fact that it was an amorous age in England. Love is the great inspirer of this type of poetry and song. Love is an elemental instinct, and rhyme and rhythm are the elemental ways of expressing things. Therefore, love finds its most suitable expression in lyric verse. Lovers must sing. If their suit is successful, their song is gay. If it meets with temporary or permanent disappointment, their song is grave. In either case, they must sing. Whenever the day of the lover comes in any day or time, and it always does come, the period during which he reigns will be an age of song.

After reading or hearing the songs of the Elizabethan period in England, there is little in the history of the times that needs to occasion surprise to one. The writers of that period were simply representative of their time. Therefore, they expressed its spirit in their singing. The soul of the England of their time breathes in their verse.

We have developed our distinct types of music in America. Each of these is also representative either of a period in our history or an element in our national spirit.