Newspaper History

Tag: S. E. Kiser

  • Have I Failed?

    From the Newark Evening Star, April 22, 1915. By S. E. Kiser.

    I have worked and I have won
        Certain pleasing victories;
    If the things that I have done
        Be not heard of overseas,
    Or their merits be denied
        Or unnoticed by the crowd,
    Still, to me they have supplied
        Moments when my heart was proud.

    I have loved and I have heard
        Her who seemed angelic say
    Tenderly the golden word
        That swept all my doubts away;
    Though the world may never look
        For such worth as I have had,
    Or perceive my little nook,
        I have filled it and been glad.

    I have seen her child and mine
        Sleeping in her proud embrace;
    If my gifts be not divine,
        Nor my place a lofty place,
    I have worked and hoped and won
        All the love a man may claim.
    Have I failed if I have done
        Naught to bring me wealth or fame?

  • Looking Ahead

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, January 1, 1915. By S. E. Kiser.

    A year is gone forever,
        But out beyond us lies
    A year for brave endeavor
        And splendid enterprise
    Where honors are awaiting
        The worthy and the wise.

    There shall be love and mating,
        And truth shall still be good;
    There shall be less of hating
        And more of Brotherhood,
    And right shall be more clearly
        And fairly understood.

    The new year shall not merely
        Bring added age to those
    Who value virtue dearly
        And strive as Vice’s foes,
    But Justice shall more nearly
        Yield honest men repose.

  • Where Brains Are Needed

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, February 20, 1914. By S. E. Kiser.

    “I claim it takes more brains to farm,” said Ebenezer Brown,
    “Than what it does to git ahead and make a splash in town;
    Why, I know six or seven chaps from this here neighborhood
    Who went away to cities, where they’re busy makin’ good.

    “You take Chicago and New York—size up the big men there—
    The lawyer, doctor, merchant and the multimillionaire—
    You’ll find they’ve all been farmer boys, or lived in towns, at least,
    Where they could have a chance to learn the ways of bird and beast.

    “Now, take these city chaps who come to cultivate the land—
    I don’t mean millionaires who farm for fun, you understand—
    But take the common city folks who try to farm, and say!
    It’s pitiful the way they try to make their farmin’ pay.

    “I’ve saw a dozen of ‘em fall; I never seen one yet
    Who managed to be prominent or not get into debt;
    And so I claim a man may make an awful splash in town
    And not have brains enough to farm,” said Ebenezer Brown.

  • The Spice of Life

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, November 11, 1913. By S. E. Kiser.

    I do not envy him who never
        Has borne the bruises of defeat.
    Whose pathways have been smooth and fair,
        Whom Chance has never learned to cheat;
        For he has never claimed the sweet
    Reward that comes to those who dare
        To be triumphant, to possess
        The splendid solace of success
    Won after failure and despair.

    I do not envy lovers who
        Have never found their love betrayed,
    Who love but once and journey through
        Life by one little passion swayed;
        For they have never gladly laid
    Aside the false love for the true,
        And they have missed the splendid thrill
        Who, having loved in vain, can still
    Forget the ache and love anew.

    I do not envy him whose days
        Have all been peaceful days and bright,
    Who has not looked with envious gaze
        On luckier men who scorned his plight;
        For he has never won the right
    To proudly listen to the praise
        Which is reserved for those who gain
        Their honors after bitter pain
    And many storms and long delays.

  • The Man Who Had No Chance

    From the Evening Star, November 2, 1913. By S. E. Kiser.

    I used to fret because I thought
        My chances were so few;
    It seemed to me that there was not
        Much left for me to do;
    The splendid things had all been done—
        At least I thought they had—
    I craved a chance, and finding none,
        Considered matters bad.

    I used to list myself with those
        Who had been born too late;
    I had no reason to suppose
        I might be rich or great;
    No chance at all remained for me—
        At least, it seemed so then—
    To win renown or worthily
        Rise o’er my fellow men.

    The great things had been done before
        I came upon the scene;
    There was no chance for me to score,
        My fate was poor and mean;
    I often hopelessly complained
        As I reviewed the case,
    Because no chance for me remained
        To serve the human race.

    And now, as I look back I find
        Myself despondent still;
    I am distressed in heart and mind,
        I claim no happy thrill;
    Condemned to shiver in the cold,
        I cannot now resist
    Sad memories as I behold
        The chances I have missed.

  • When Our Grandparents Were In Love

    From The Topeka State Journal, September 24, 1913. By S. E. Kiser.

    Things have changed a mighty sight
        Since our grandpas went to spark;
    There was no electric light
        When they wished to keep it dark;
    They’d no chance to ever call
        Up a girl by telephone;
    Had no taxicabs at all,
        Cabarets were still unknown;
    They were poor and underpaid,
        And were plagued by many cares;
    How, oh, how did they persuade
        Our dear grandmas to be theirs?

    When our grandpas were young men
        They had little cash to burn;
    It was customary then
        To save all that one could earn;
    They were not inclined to flash
        Money where the crowds could see;
    They were stingy with their cash
        For, in fact, they had to be;
    Cocktails gave them no delight,
        Life, no doubt, was very tame,
    But they seemed to hit it right
        With our grandmas, all the same.

    When our grandpas loved and sighed
        As enchanted lovers will,
    They had little cause for pride,
        And their tastes were simple still.
    They possessed no purring cars
        To appeal to women’s hearts;
    On their hands they bore the scars
        Necessary toil imparts;
    Oft I wonder how they won
        Our grandmas, poor old chaps.
    They appear, though, to have done
        Well, despite their handicaps.

  • Forever

    From the Evening Star, September 7, 1913. By S. E. Kiser.

    She treated him as if he had
        Been some unworthy thing;
    It seemed, indeed, to make her glad
        To see him worrying.

    She seemed to study how to make
        His moments doubly sad;
    She seemed to want his heart to break,
        His sorrow made her glad.

    At last, believing her to be
        Unworthy and unkind,
    He ceased his pleading, sensibly
        Declining to be blind.

    The moment that he turned away
        And seemed to cease to care
    She humbly called to him to stay,
        And wilted in despair.

    He tenderly forgave her when
        Her tears began to flow;
    For so it is with maids and men—
        It always will be so.

  • In Spite of Fate

    From the Omaha Daily Bee, June 28, 1913.
 By S. E. Kiser.
 

 A little boy sat on an old rail fence
     And gazed at a drooping limb;
 And a sinful yearning that was intense
     Kept steadily urging him.
 
 His little red features were covered with dirt
     And his little brown legs were scratched;
 There were numerous rents in his little checked shirt,
     And his little blue pants were patched.
 
 From one little toe the nail had been torn
     And one little heel was sore;
 A child apparently more forlorn
     I had never beheld before.
 
 At last he stood on the topmost rail
     And reached for that drooping limb;
 I almost uttered a hopeless wail—
     I felt so sorry for him.
 
 Hand over hand he pulled it down—
     The limb with the droop, I mean;
 His face was red and his legs were brown
     And the apples were small and green.
 
 He sat on the rail and he ate and ate;
     I counted them—there were four;
 Then, foolishly, recklessly challenging fate,
     He reached for a couple more.
 
 Sadly I turned to pursue my way
     And sadly I said, “Good-by.”
 Alas for what I have seen this day,
     ’Tis sad that the young must die.
 
 “You have had your way and you’ve had your will;
     Your bed will be dark and deep;
 A week from now upon yonder hill
     You will lie in a dreamless sleep.”
 
 A week had passed and again I chanced
     To pause ‘neath that fateful tree;
 With sad remembrance I turned and glanced—
     A thrill was in store for me.
 
 For there on the old rail fence he sat,
     Eating with calm delight,
 And, having finished he filled his hat
     And then sauntered out of sight.

  • The Other Man’s Lot

    From the Rock Island Argus, June 9, 1913.
 By S. E. Kiser.
 

 Each day he watched the trains go by;
     He’d pause behind his plow to gaze,
 And many a time he heaved a sigh
     And thought he wasted precious days;
 The breeze blew sweetly from the sky,
     His flocks and herds grazed on the slopes,
 But, turning when the trains went past,
 His countenance was overcast
     And envy blighted all his hopes.
 
 His children played among the trees,
     His fields were wide and rich and green;
 A thousand things were there to please
     By adding beauty to the scene.
 But, longing for the sight of seas
     And far-off mountains looming high,
 A dozen times a day he turned
 And in his bosom envy burned
     What time he watched the trains go by.
 
 He looked across his acres wide
     And saw his billowy fields of wheat,
 And heard the thundering trains and sighed,
     Although the breeze was soft and sweet.
 And many a weary one who spied
     Him standing out there brown and grim
 Thought of his freedom from all care,
 Thought of his independence there,
     And, riding onward, envied him.

  • The Intricacies of Finance

    From the Rock Island Argus, June 5, 1913.
 By S. E. Kiser.
 

 Finance is something that appears
     To be away beyond my ken;
 I’ve studied it for years and years,
     In common with my fellow men;
 But there are things about it which
     Are deeply mystifying yet;
 How is it that some men are rich
     And at the same time far in debt?
 
 My place in life is rather low,
     And I may never cease to strive;
 I’m poor, although I do not owe
     A cent to any man alive;
 The luxuries that come to me
     Are very few and very small;
 Things may be as they ought to be,
     But I can’t understand at all.
 
 They say that old man Billingsworth
     Owes money almost everywhere;
 His people travel o’er the earth,
     And never seem to have a care;
 With eighty thousand dollars less
     Than nothing he is living high,
 And looks with splendid haughtiness
     Down on such humble ones as I.
 
 He has a long, low, rakish car
     In which he proudly rides about;
 He smokes a large and good cigar
     And always has his chest pushed out;
 The house in which he dwells is grand,
     His wife wears gems that cost a pile;
 His son has never turned a hand,
     His daughters dress in queenly style.
 
 He does not labor day by day,
     As I and those around me do;
 He’s very deep in debt, they say,
     And always sinking deeper, too;
 Yet, worse than merely penniless,
     He shines where I would have no chance;
 The simple truth must be, I guess,
     That I can’t understand finance.