The Labadie Booklets




The Labadie Shop is not run for profit, It is a modest little work-room, where the family get recreation from the daily grind of making both ends meet, which is difficult enough. Heretofore it has been kept up mostly by voluntary contributions, the product being distributed among those who it was thot would like and appreciate it. This support, with a trifie sold,, has so far been a7nple for its needs. The Labadie Booklets, calendars, mottoes, etc., are printed, leather handbags, 7vastebaskets and sich are made by hand, china dec or at-ing, fancy work and a lot of such work is done for love and money. Write us. 74 Buchanan St., Detroit, Mich,



\A/HEN confined to the need of defense * " I welcome disorder in the world of workl

Why cry "Peace, peace!" when there is no peace?

When the very air gluts with the clash of interests?

Until my opportunities for making goods

shall equal thine, Until you cease shading the sunlight of joy

from my lite, Until you stop siphoning the flow of my efforts into your corrupting coffers, Until you release your grip upon my throat and let me breathe the air of freedom— The freedom to live, laugh, love and be

happy in my own way, So long as my way does not obstruct in-

vasively your way— I shall raise the hue and cry, I shall startle the dreamless slumbers of the spoilers of Toil!

Under present vogues, industrial peace means humiliation, slavery, death!

It means the gelatinous bones of our babes shall be molded into money for marauders;

That the mothers and daughters of Toil shall be driven to shame as the price of subsistence;

That mud from the wheels of the wealthy shall gleefully splash in our faces

And blind our eyes to the splendor of our own work which they enjoy,

And the squalor of our own environs,

And the meanness of our own estate.

It means that I may work only when you let me,

And you let me only when you may take more than you give.

It means that I cannot look into your eyes with the frankness of friendship,

For how can the flowers of friendship grow in the gloom of dependence?

How can love linger in the lap of luxury and share its joy with bitterness and woe?




So long as Idleness and Privilege revel in

unearned ease I shall raise the hue and cry; I shall shriek my wrongs into your unwilling ears;

I shall shout with a fanatic's voice until your deadened conscience shall be aroused to sensibility; I shall clank my industrial chains until you are driven to remorse and retribution. And then I shall take you in my arms as a long-lost brother returned to the home of righteousness, Where you may know the joy of owning

only what you earn, Where you may feel the lofty dignity of a workman with no spurred loafer goading him beyond his strength and reaping no gain for its expense, Where you shall give measure for measure, Where you shall be no man's master or no

man's menial. I shall work with you in making the Kingdom of Heaven on earth, Where the art of free fingers may equal the

dreams of Aladdin, Where even the meanest who wills may make material comforts in plenitude, without let or hindrance, Where the plague of money madness will not deaden the conscience or sear the soul.

The sunshine of peace can gladden our hearts only when the leaden clouds of injustice roll away. Pleasing Progress ordains that the fashioners of the world's wealth shall not bow in meek assent to the power of Priv-lege;

And Nature says the under dog in the fight may bark, bite, bruise, damage, hurt, tear, growl, injure, lacerate, aye, even kill if necessary! The end indeed justifies the means, and the cause of the workers is defensible indeed.

Therefore, for those who toil and tire, Who work and sweat and produce, Who are denied the fullness of their efforts I have no protesting frown when they strike, vote, fight, appeal, struggle, contest, agitate For the right to life, liberty, property, happiness,

Be it by mobs, by individuals, by unions,

by brigades, by armies; Or strive with bluster or passivity or embattled warfare, With winning words or moral suasion or abuse or satire or argument or lies or truth,

With fists or clubs or bullets or ballots or cannon or dynamite

To throw off the deadly load of industrial spoliation.

Think not that we dare not when we do not.

It is war, and war is hell, and hell is disorder,

And disorder is the boiling of the industrial caldron that purifies.

It is death to those who know not, to those who hesitate, to those who are weakest,

And the world's story says the workers are weakest

Because less bloodthirsty.

The robbed are never so desperate as the robbers.

Ah, brothers, are we eternally to have a clash of arms, a clash of classes, a clash of interests?

How I pray and plead for the milder means;

How I appeal to the man in men, to leave off the barbarities of the beasts;

How I urge that ravaging storms of violence may purify the air, but they leave ruin and desolation behind;

How I press that reason and patience and persistence, like growing plants that move boulders, may displace the rudest wrongs;

How I strive to show that as warmth from the sun produces flowers brilliant with beauty out of the most repellant soilure,

So may the glow of love and kindliness and gentility,

From even the bitterest enmity, the most unyielding grudge, the greatest animosity

Force a sense of justice as tough as oak,

A sympathy as balmy as a summer breeze,

A fellowship as strong as the ebbing tide.

A friendship as tender as a mother's love.


When the milder means cannot avail, When stubborn opulence persists in ignoring the rightful meed of Toil, The blame for turmoil must rest, As the fall of the angels, upon the powers

of darkness; And then, when within the realm of defense,

I welcome disorder in the world of work!


O thru the world with joy in your eye, ^^ Walk Life's way with a heart full of wine,

No threatening clouds let traverse your sky,

No words in your mouth that grudges enshrine.

Give each a glad hand in friendship sincere,

Give where there's need and count not the


Give where you can, tho it be but good cheer,

And the graces will sunshine strew on your way.


Your loving look, Your gently-thrilling touch, Your soulful sigh when 1 am nigh, Your velvet lips that cling to mine with

amorous warmth, Your winding arms that gird my neck as ivy vines and press my cheek unto your bonny breast, Your sweet-soft eyes that seek in mine the

tale of fond solicitude for you, Your throbbing heart that knocks for entrance unto mine, Your sinuous form that yields with yearning to my fond embrace, Your gracious words which win my will

to your own wistful wish, Your dainty fingers thru my hair that

soothe the stressfulness of life, Your vinous voice, intoxicating in its mellow rhythm— These, the consummation of love's delights in flowered fullness that grow in giving,

I yield to you, accept from you, enjoy with you,

And wish for human life a long eternity of woo and being won.


"Always look up," I was advised,

As tho the joys of life were there, And so I took the free advice

And kept my gaze into the air. I walked with slow, uncertain step,

While faith sustained me on my way; I looked and prayed and pondered deep And fell into an area.


Whine not, nor take that which is not thine own;

Speak out thy mind, tho thou stand quite alone;

Be gentle, kind, and thy rich voice keep low;

Ungracious greed and trade's rude rush forego.

These and brave hearts attuned to love and zest

Will to the world bring justice, peace and rest.

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