Life, 1916-05-04 · page 19 of 52
Life — May 4, 1916 — page 19: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a poem, not a cartoon, appearing in *Life* magazine (page 843). It critiques industrial capitalism's dominance over nature and human wellbeing. The "Red Gods" represent nature's call—springtime, forests, outdoor freedom—appealing to urban workers exhausted by city labor. The "God of Gold" symbolizes the profit motive and economic compulsion that silences this natural urge. The poem's central complaint: working-class men cannot heed nature's seasonal invitation because economic necessity ("the shriek," "the howl") drowns it out. Even when they momentarily hear nature's call, they cannot act on it—their eyes "droop" and they remain trapped in urban toil. This reflects Progressive Era anxieties about industrial life's dehumanizing effects and the loss of connection to nature, positioning greed as the villain preventing workers' spiritual and physical renewal.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
The Silenced Call HEN the buds burst out in the springtime The gods of the forest call To the men who work in the city’s murk, Harried and sore and small. “Come,” ery the gods, “come, leave behind The strain and worry, the deadly grind; Come where the pines grow straight and tall, And taste of life in the springtime!” But the call of the good Red Gods of old Is drowned by the shriek of the God of Gold, When the wind is west in the springtime And the winter’s browns turn green, A few there are who hear afar The call from the forest-screen— Who hear the deer in the leaf-strewn glades And the laughing swish of the paddle-blades ; But they’re few indeed, and far between, Though the streets grow hot in the springtime. For the Red Gods’ call is not as bold As the piercing shriek of the God of Gold. When the air is sweet with the springtime And the robin sings at dawn— When men are white from the winter's fight, And their eyes are dull and drawn, There comes a sound, far-off and shrill; The toiler stops, with brain a-thrill; But all in vain: the sound is gone, And the eyelids droop in the springtime. So the Red Gods’ tale remains untold, Drowned out by the howl of the God of Gold. K. L. Roberts. comicbooks.com