CLASS-LIBRARY READINGS

MAKING THINGS

I. "How John Muir Became an Explorer," Vocational Reader, 61–66. 2. "The Man Who Cheapened Tacks," ibid., 152-157.

3. "The Housewife Who Built a Telescope," ibid., 181–186. 4. "John Muir, Interpreter of Nature," in Makers of Our History, 331-342.

5. "Women and Craftsmanship," M. B. Eson-Kohler, in Opportunities of Today for Boys and Girls, 227-230.

6. "The Making of a Basket," K. T. Fogarty, in The Joy in Work, 159-166.

7. "The Story in a Watch," Wonder Book of Knowledge, 61–72. 8. "The Story of America's Horseless Carriage," ibid., 290–291. "The Story in the Making of a Pair of Shoes," ibid., 436–448. 10. "The Story of an Automobile Factory," ibid., 518–539.

9.

II. "A Wind-Storm in the Forests," John Muir in The Promise of Country Life, 58-67.

12. "The Automobile and How It Works," Compton's Pictured Encyclopedia, I: 274-287.

13. "The Miracles of Iron and Steel," ibid., 5: 1815-1826; Book of Knowledge, 2:617-624.

14. "The Marvel of Matches and How They Are Made," Compton's Pictured Encyclopedia, 5:2170-2174; Book of Knowledge, 3:773-780.

15. "The Steeple-Climber," Careers of Danger and Daring, 3-39. 16. "The Dynamite Worker," ibid., 348-376.

17. "The Story of the Automobile," World Book, 1:512–518. 18. "The Match," Stories of Useful Inventions, 3-12.

19. "The Clock," ibid., 211-226.

20. "Making Iron and Steel," Book of Knowledge, 18: 5537-5556.

Read these four poems about work and workers twice and then write on a slip of paper their titles, putting the one you like best first, the one you like next best second, and so on.

Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,

With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.

His hair is crisp, and black, and long;

His face is like the tan;

His brow is wet with honest sweat:

He earns whate'er he can;

And looks the whole world in the face,

For he owes not any man.

Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge
With measured beat and slow,

Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.

And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;

They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,

And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a thrashing floor.

He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach;
He hears his daughter's voice
Singing in the village choir,

And it makes his heart rejoice.

It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!

He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;

And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.

Toiling - rejoicing - sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;

Each morning sees some task begun;
Each evening sees it close;
Something atterapted, something done,

Has earned a night's repose.

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught !
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought!

2. 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 as he makes ready for work, or leaves off

work,

The boatman singing what belongs to him in the 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-cutter's song, the ploughboy'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 that belongs to the day at night the party of young fellows, robust, friendly,

Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.

3. WORK GANGS

CARL SANDBURG

Hammers and shovels of work gangs sleep in shop corners When the dark stars come on the sky and the night watchmen walk and look.

Then the hammer heads talk to the handles,

then the scoops of the shovels talk,

how the day's work nicked and trimmed them, how they swung and lifted all day,

how the hands of the work gangs smelled of hope.

In the night of the dark stars

when the curve of the sky is a work gang handle,

in the night on the mile long sidetracks,

in the night where the hammers and shovels sleep in corners, the night watchmen stuff their pipes with dreams

and sometimes they doze and don't care for nothin'

and sometimes they search their heads for meanings, stories, stars.

The stuff of it runs like this:

A long way we come; a long way we go; long rests and long deep sniffs for our lungs on the way.

Sleep is a belonging of all; even if all songs are old songs and

the singing heart is snuffed out like a switchman's lantern with the oil gone; even if we forget our names and houses in the finish, the secret of sleep is left us; sleep belongs to all; sleep is the first and last and best of all.

People singing; people with song mouths connecting with song hearts; people who must sing or die; people whose song hearts break if there is no song mouth; these are my people.

4. THE SONG OF THE WORLD

ISABEL BOWMAN FINLEY

There's a song that the hammer is singing,
A ringing and wholesome song,

Of the day's bread won,

Of the day's work done,

Of a mould well cast

In the fiery blast

And never one blow gone wrong.

There's a song that the engines are singing,
A deep and echoing song,