Newspaper History

Category: Newspapers

This is the parent category for all individual newspapers.

  • Homesickness

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, June 24, 1915.

    “I’ve wandered through the city,” murmured Hezekiah Bings.
    “I’ve seen an’ heard a lot of mighty interestin’ things.
    I’ve seen the motor cars that went all screamin’ on their way
    An’ sprained an eyelid winkin’ at a motion picture play.
    I’ve heard the trolley buzzin’ down below or up above
    An’ got into the crowds where nervous people shout and shove;
    I am full of strange impressions that I gained by night an’ day—
    Oh, take me to some quiet spot where they kin fade away.
    Jes’ let me sit upon the fence an’ contemplate the scenery;
    Some place where everything is not conducted by machinery.

    “I’ve listened to the whistle an’ the rattle an’ the roar
    An’ joined the eager throng that stood around and cheered the score.
    I’ve chased a car for blocks an’ then I’ve swung upon a strap
    Until I felt that I was scattered all around the map.
    I dearly love the city with its music an’ its lights,
    But I’ve improved my mind enough a-lookin’ at the sights.
    The dearest place I know of, an’ its there I long to roam,
    Is where you buy a ticket that’ll carry you back home.
    So start me for the country, with its sunlight and its greenery,
    Where you kin live an’ die without assistance from machinery.

  • A Slave of the City

    From The Birmingham Age Herald, June 23, 1915.

    His heart dwells in fair country lanes,
        The pleasant rural places,
    Where days go by as in a dream
        And no one ever races
    In maddened quest of fame and wealth,
        Unmoved by love or pity,
    And tramples weaker brothers down,
        As folks do in the city.

    His heart dwells in the peaceful realm
        Of meadow, hill and dale,
    Where smoky billows never stain
        The cloud-ships as they sail,
    And where there’s much that’s more worth while
        Than worldly place and power,
    And something of God’s plan is taught
        By every wayside flower.

  • The Day is Dying

    From The Detroit Times, June 22, 1915. By W. J. P.

    The lengthening shadows fall, and darkness sweepeth
    Her saddened heart o’er all; full long she weepeth,
    For he she loved has gone and left her sighing,
    Alone, disgraced, undone—the day is dying.

    She trusted, ah, too well. Would one had spoken
    Ere she had sunk to hell, and now, heartbroken,
    She dwells upon the past, her fate decrying,
    The sunlight fades at last—the day is dying.

    Receiving nought but scorn, by kin forsaken;
    With pain and sorrow torn, by anguish shaken,
    She, in her woeful plight, hope from her flying,
    Awaits the coming night—the day is dying.

    The night shades gather fast, the daylight fadeth,
    A calm and peace at last her soul pervadeth;
    Her heart sinks on her breast, hushed is her crying;
    Her soul has found its rest—the day is dying.

  • All the Time

    From The Topeka State Journal, June 21, 1915.

    The statesmen can get busy, wave the old flag and orate,
        But the cost of living rises just the same.
    They may call the money barons and they may investigate,
        But the cost of living rises just the same.
    They may threaten, they may bluster, they may scream and paw the air;
    They may plead and they may grovel and in madness tear their hair;
    They can tell of real conditions and the awful truth lay bare,
        But the cost of living rises just the same.

  • The Seekers

    From The Sun, June 20, 1915. By Arthur Wallace Peace.

    On life’s high trails two pilgrims met,
    And east and west their ways were set.

    Said one: “I seek the towers tall
    That shelter Merlin’s mystic hall.

    “There shall I learn his secrets grave
    Until the earth shall be my slave.

    “I leave the valley’s peace to roam;
    I bid farewell to love and home.”

    Said one: “I from the heights come down
    To seek the valley kind and brown.

    “There shall I learn from seed and sod
    The quickest pathway unto God.

    “There shall I find my heart’s desire
    Beside a humble hearthside fire.”

    Then on they went with pitying thought,
    Each leaving what the other sought!

  • Rosemary—For Remembrance

    From The Topeka State Journal, June 19, 1915. By Willard Wattler.

    When I would go a-walking
    In springtime on the green
    As other hearty lads may do
    With loves to look and lean,
    There is a hand, a wasted hand
    That slips our hands between.

    And when I bend above you
    And lean to touch your lips,
    Another face is lifted
    As the white heron dips,
    When all the sailor lads come home
    Who man the lonely ships.

    And were we two together
    Too close to breathe or stir,
    With stars our wakeful candles
    Upon strewn boughs of fir,
    I could not lie beside you
    And not remember her.

  • Ballad of the King’s Triumph

    From the Evening Public Ledger, June 18, 1915. By Dana Burnet.

    “Call me my minstrel,” said the king,
        “And let him sing a glee.
    For I have won this summer day
        A mighty victory.

    “Between the tides of dawn and dusk
        Upon a field I stood
    And saw my gallant swords drink deep
        Of body and of blood.

    “So bid my merry minstrel in
        With lute and silver thong,
    And let him take my stained sword
        And sheathe it in a song!”

    The minstrel came, an ancient man,
        And smote a silver string.
    “Oh, gallant is the victory
        And mighty is the king!

    “At dawn he rode with all his knights
        Into a virgin field.
    At dusk the blood of honest men
        Was stained upon his shield.

    “And in the houses of his foes
        A thousand leagues away,
    The hearts of women bled and broke
        Upon a summer’s day.”

    “What song is this?” the monarch cried,
        “What sorrow dost thou sing?”
    “Why, only of the victory
        That crowned my lord and king.”

    The minstrel smiled a fleeting smile
        And smote a splendid chord.
    “Oh, gallant is the use of arms
        And mighty is the sword!

    “For on this day a greening field
        Was won at crimson cost;
    And what the gods of war have gained
        The loves of men have lost.

    “And many a heart of friend and foe
        Has broken on this day,
    And children starve and women weep
        A thousand leagues away!

    “Then cry the triumph to the stars
        And let the heavens ring!
    For gallant is the victory!
        And mighty is the king!”

  • Madrigal

    From the Evening Public Ledger, June 17, 1915. By Edith Ives Woodworth.

                    I.

    She came across the shining hill
        Adown a golden lea,
    Love lightened in her dewy eyes,
        Love piped a melody.

    Love led her to a silver space
        Beneath a gray-leaved tree;
    Dear Heaven! the wind tossed in her hair,
        The sunlight touched her knee.

    Ah, unforgotten morn of gold,
        O river running free,
    I thrilled to see her foam-white foot
        When my love came to me.

                    II.

    Night broods upon the gray-leaved bough
        Around the shadowed door,
    O dark is yon unlighted hill
        And dull the reedy shore.

    Nor will she pass upon the plain
        As once she passed before,
    Nor evermore her foam-white foot,
        My starry love of yore.

  • A Reformer

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, June 16, 1915. By Philander Johnson.

    Bill Jenkins used to toil an’ think fur all that he was worth,
    His purpose bein’ to get out an’ to elevate the earth.
    He wanted reformation an’ he wanted it fur fair,
    An’ he made his fellow-man the object of his special care.
    If his fellow-man was hungry Bill could show him how the fact
    Was due to some bad habit or some ill-considered act;
    He was shocked beyond expression at the faults that he could find,
    But willin’ to be shocked some more, he sought to uplift human kind.

    He drew comparisons ‘twixt folks that didn’t get along
    An’ those who like himself seemed rather confident an’ strong.
    He felt a bit superior an’ the feelin’ kind o’ grew
    That he hadn’t no bad habits—leastways only one or two.
    Yet his schemes for reformation on a strictly wholesale plan,
    They didn’t seem of value to his sufferin’ fellow-man.
    He sometimes gave expressions to opinions almost rude
    To what he would refer to as “the world’s ingratitude.”

    He took the failure to accept his good advice to heart.
    The folks admitted that his talk was mighty fine an’ smart.
    He didn’t understand the ways of honest, kindly care.
    Great wisdom ain’t uncommon, but true sympathy is rare.
    He stopped an’ thought it over an’ his pulse beat fast an’ warm
    As he said, “I wouldn’t wonder if it’s me that needs reform!
    This world would surely hit a pace that’s generous an’ good
    If every one reformed hisself an’ done the best he could.”

  • The Battle

    From the Albuquerque Morning Journal, June 15, 1915. By Wilfred Wilson Gibson.

    All day beneath the hurtling shells
        Before my burning eyes
    Hover the dainty demoiselles—
        The peacock dragon flies.

    Unceasingly they dart and glance
        Above the stagnant stream—
    And I am fighting here in France
        As in a senseless dream—

    A dream of shattering black shells
        That hurtle overhead,
    And dainty dancing demoiselles
        Above the dreamless dead.