From the Omaha Daily Bee, July 4, 1914. By David.
When you’re roused from your sleep by a terrible noise
At four in the morning, you know that the boys
Are up for the day, and sigh.
When in through the window a firecracker flies
And bursts on the floor, driving sleep from your eyes,
You know it’s the Fourth of July.
When the cat in wild fear climbs a tree in the gale
With a bunch of firecrackers attached to her tail,
Which happens just once a year;
When Towner seeks a hole under the house
And keeps just as still as a poor frightened mouse,
The Glorious Fourth is here.
When all the world leaves for the woods and the farms,
From the grey-headed sire to the infant in arms,
We never wonder why;
And when, unawares, drenching all in its train,
Out flashes the lightning and down pours the rain,
You know it’s the Fourth of July.
When skyrockets burst and cannons explode,
Causing horses to run and upset their load,
And a general panic is nigh;
When the fire engine comes and commences to play,
And the ambulance carries the victims away,
’Tis the Glorious Fourth of July.
When the wounds are all dressed and plasters applied
To scratches and burns, which are shown with great pride
By little Peter and John;
When each in sweet sleep has forgotten his grief,
You retire for the night with a sigh of relief.
The Glorious Fourth is gone.
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