Category: Omaha Daily Bee

  • The Observer

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, September 19, 1912.
     
    
     I like to sit beside the road
       A-waitin’ fur the mail.
     Each day the driver will unload
       His treasures, without fail.
     And, be the weather dry or wet,
       A-standin’ in the row,
     Amanda Boggs is there to get
       A letter from her beau.
     
     I’ve watched her now fur quite a while,
       An’ lately I perceive
     She’s lost her laughin’, careless smile,
       And seems inclined to grieve.
     I can’t help sharin’ her regret,
       That seems each day to grow.
     I wish Amanda Boggs would get
       A letter from her beau.
     
     Her eyes were never made fur tears,
       However light their mist.
     These ought to be the happiest years
       In all her birthday list.
     Her feet should dance an’ never set
       A solemn pace an’ slow.
     I wish Amanda Boggs would get
       A letter from her beau.
     
     Why, there’s Amanda, ‘cross the way,
       With sunshine in her face!
     I haven’t seen in many a day
       Such joyous, girlish grace.
     I share her happiness, and yet
       I’d never let her know
     How glad I am to see her get
       A letter from her beau.
  • Creeping Up the Stairs

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, September 12, 1912.
    Author Unknown.
     
    
     In the softly fading twilight
       Of a weary, weary day,
     With a quiet step I entered
       Where the children were at play;
     I was brooding over some trouble
       Which had met me unawares,
     When a little voice came ringing:
       “Me is creeping up the stairs.”
     
     Ah, it touched the tenderest heart-strings
       With a breath and force divine,
     And such melodies awakened
       As no wording can define.
     And I turned to see our darling,
       All forgetful of my cares,
     When I saw the little creature
       Slowly creeping up the stairs.
     
     Step by step she bravely clambered
       On her little hands and knees,
     Keeping up a constant chattering,
       Like a magpie in the trees,
     Till at last she reached the topmost
       When over all her world’s affairs
     She delightfully stood a victor
       After creeping up the stairs.
     
     Fainting heart, behold an image
       Of man’s brief and struggling life,
     Whose best prizes must be captured
       With a noble, earnest strife;
     Onward, upward reaching ever,
       Bending to the weight of cares,
     Hoping, fearing, still expecting,
       We go creeping up the stairs.
     
     On their steps may be no carpet,
       By their side may be no rail;
     Hands and knees may often pain us,
       And the heart may almost fail;
     Still above there is the glory,
       Which no sinfulness impairs,
     With its joy and rest forever,
       After creeping up the stairs.
  • The Real Friend

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, September 11, 1912.
     
    
     If ever I find a people’s friend,
       Who does not brag about himself;
     And doesn’t seek some selfish end;
       Is not acquiring wads of pelf,
     But strives in honor day by day
       And always does the best he can
     To smooth the rough and rugged way,
       Over which must pass his fellow-man,
     I’ll cling to him with all my might,
       And sing his praises as I go.
     His speech will not be stale and trite,
       And in his eyes a light will glow.
     
     He will not spend his days in ease,
       While busy men are at their work.
     Mouthing the phrases thought to please
       To hide the fact that he’s a shirk.
     Nor will his bank account grow fat
       The while he fights the people’s cause;
     He will not seek the glory that
       Depends alone on men’s applause.
     But if he loves his fellow-men,
       And tolls for them, he will not care
     That he must labor often when
       There’s neither cheers nor spotlight’s glare.
     
     Too many pose as public friends
       Who merely work their tireless jaws,
     And use, to cover selfish ends,
       The mantle of the people’s cause.
     Too many drop all useless work
       To thrive upon this empty plea,
     That all the burdens now that irk
       Some day they’ll take from you and me.
     A people’s friend is one who strives
       Without a thought of gain or fame,
     To happier, better make our lives
       Than what they were before he came.
  • The Farewell Swat

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, September 10, 1912.
     
    
     ‘Tis the last fly of summer that flits on the wing;
     And my heart almost bleeds for the lonesome young thing!
     No mate of his old age, no comrade has he
     To stick in the jelly, or drown in the tea!
     
    
     I know if I spare him he’ll frisk on my nose;
     Or perch on my bald spot, disturb my repose!
     Bereft of his vigor and shorn of his pride,
     I’ll send him to rest, where the good flies reside!
     
    
     So (swat!) let me finish his earthly career—
     Then (bing!) goes a globe from my best chandelier;
     And (smash!) my screen swatter is dashed at his head—
     But, gosh! ‘Twas a finger bowl shattered instead.
     
    
     Well, (biff!) ain’t it awful, I’ve missed him once more?
     And (bang!) this destruction is making me sore.
     So kindly let’s gather the wreckage away,
     And hope that we land him on some other day!