The Greedy Capitalist

The Joy of Life

I'd rather risk gamely
And lose for my trying
Than grind around tamely
--A cog in the mill.
I'd rather fail greatly
With courage undying
Than plod on sedately
With never a thrill!

The game's in the playing
And, losing or winning,
The fun's in the essaying
Your bravest and best,
In taking your chances
While fate's wheel is spinning
And backing your fancies
With nerve and with zest!

Let stodgy folk censure
and timid folk quaver,
But life sans adventure
Is weary to bear,
The dangers we're sharing
Give living its savour
I'd rather die daring
Than never to dare!

I came across a collection of some of Berton Braley's best poems at Quent Cordair. Check it out!

Whether the People be led by the Lord,
Or lured by the loudest throat;
If it be quicker to die by the sword
Or cheaper to die by vote—
These are the things we have dealt with once,
(And they will not rise from their grave)
For Holy People, however it runs,
Endeth in wholly Slave.

Whatsoever, for any cause,
Seeketh to take or give
Power above or beyond the Laws,
Suffer it not to live!
Holy State or Holy King—
Or Holy People's Will—
Have no truck with the senseless thing.
Order the guns and kill!

Saying—after—me:—

Once there was The People—Terror gave it birth;
Once there was The People and it made a Hell of Earth.
Earth arose and crushed it. Listen, O ye slain!
Once there was The People—it shall never be again!

From Rudyard Kipling's 'MacDonough's Song.' Found at Objectivism.net

Man

Weak and puny, small and frail,
Helpless he with tooth or nail,
In a world of fang and claw
Where sheer power makes the law.
Into battle he had gone
With the shaggy mastodon,
With the cruel beasts of prey
Snarling in their lust to slay,
Thirsting for the taste of blood;
He has fought with fire and flood,
With a heart and soul elate
Warred with nature--and woth fate,
Dauntless, fearless, bold of eye,
Unafarid to fall and die,
Man has battled countless odds
Which would fright the very gods,
But by virtue of his will
Which no chill defeat could kill,
And by strength of heart and soul
He has striven to his goal;
By sheer vigor of attack
Beaten brute creation back
And through countless conflicts hurled
Made him Master of the World!

"Man" by Berton Braley

Why Not?

Why shouldn't the soul of a mortal be proud?
Life goes, it is true, like a swift-flying cloud
But while it is going and ere he has died
A man may do many things worthy of pride

The high and the humble, the meek and the brave,
Are all of them destined in time for the grave,
But while they are living and drawing their breath
They may create something that lives after death.

The Builder may build and the singer may sing,
The Painter may paint while his time's on the wing.
And when they are buried deep down in the grime
The things they have made will remain for all time.

Man conquers the mountains, the seas and the air,
And deserts turn gardens while under his care.
He does wondrous deeds in the scant space allowed;
Why shouldn't the soul of a mortal be proud?

Up out of the darkness we reach to the light
And slowly through ages we toil to the height.
The soul of a mortal is more than his clay;
The spirit of man can defy all decay!

So lift up your eyes to the Truth that is God's:
In spite of disaster, in face of all odds,
The spirit of Man is not wrapped in the shroud,
Why shouldn't the soul of a mortal be proud?

Just Anti-social

We've loaded him with a lot of taxes
And rules and codes but there's something funny;
In spite of the way his burden waxes
The son-of-a-gun is making money!

Whenever he's given a boost to trade
We've taken an extra tribute off it,
But still the villain is undismayed,
The son-of-a-gun has shown a Profit!

We grind out daily a brand new grist
Of regulations by Profs. And scholars,
But the Rugged Individualist
Is still producing some surplus dollars!

We've frowned on personal, private gains,
As most immoral, and due for censure,
But the son-of-a-gun with Business Brains
Continues risking some new adventure!

In spite of Planners and New Deal sages
With Communistical dreams and yearnings,
This Capitalistic guy pays wages,
And Some of his stocks and bonds show earnings!

We've moved the bases, and changed the lines,
And altered the rules for every inning,
With added penalties, doubled fines,
But the son-of-a-gun insists on winning!

It's anti-social to fail to fail,
It makes our wonderful schemes look funny;
Rush the Traitor at once to jail,
For the son-of-a-gun is making money!.

"Just Anti-social" by Berton Braley

The thinker

Back of the beating hammer
By which the steel is wrought,
Back of the workshop's clamor
The seeker may find the Thought,
The Thought that is ever master
Of iron and steam and steel,
That rises above disaster
And tramples it under heel!

The drudge may fret and tinker
Or labor with lusty blows,
But back of him stands the Thinker,
The clear-eyed man who knows;
For into each plow or saber,
Each piece and part and whole,
Must go the Brains of Labor,
Which gives the work a soul!

Back of the motors humming
Back of the belts that sing,
Back of the hammers drumming.
Back of the cranes that swing,
There is the eye which scans them
Watching through stress and strain
There is the Mind which plans them-
Back of the brawn, the Brain!

Might of the roaring boiler,
Force of the engine's thrust,
Strength of the sweating toiler-
Greatly in these we trust.
But back of them stands the Schemer,
The Thinker who drives things through;
Back of the Job-the Dreamer
Who's making the dream come true!

"The thinker", by Berton Braley