Oklahoma Sunshine

Excerpt

"What Think Ye, Masters, of These Things?"

(A Poem read on Oklahoma Day, September 6, 1904, at the Louisiana Purchase Exposition.)

O, ye who frame the sovereign law,
And heal the hurts of ocean isles
Till hid are savage tooth and claw
And Peace above the battle smiles,—
If Justice reigns and Mercy clings,
What think ye, Masters, of these things?
The Father of the Waters greets
Imperial sisters proud and great,
And nation mighty nation meets
At festal boards of lordly state:
But one—one only,—maketh moan:
Denied the Star, she weeps alone!
The cycles fly on eagled wings:
A hundred years have run their quest
Since he who bought and sold with kings
An empire added to the West:
And all his regions rulers are
Save her alone who mourns the Star.
The wildness in a moment died;
A garden bloomed and fruited full
Across the plains and valleys wide
At touch of hands invincible;
But mute she stands where deserts were:
The banner holds no Star for her!
The race heaps high its conquered spoil;
The braggart heirs of all men do
Assemble where the Triumphs toil
In marshaled columns for review;
And she, the Starless, at your call
Brings trophies that surpass them all!
Are not her laurels rich and rare?
Her apt attainments great with grace?
You crown her here and everywhere
Save where she pleads for power and place;
The world amazed her praises rings:
What think ye, Masters, of these things?
She wonders wrought with wondrous hands:
Her cities crowd the teeming plains,
And church and school exalt the lands
With all of mankind's greater gains;—
The last of all the waste, she brings
The triumphs of her million kings!
A million white and black and red
Whose treble toils misunderstood
Build happy homes and fondly wed
The desert place with joyous good,
And at your feet, uncrowned, unblest
Kneel for the knighthood of their quest!
Thralled in her chains, this fairest one
Of all the realms that greatly found
Rich largess on the barrens dun
Pleads from her fetters, vassal-bound;
And still the Star before her swings:
What think ye, Masters, of these things?

Dreams.

Day-dreams and play-dreams! From the rosy morn
Till the ashy eventide and the stars new-born,
Ever bringing life and heart aweary with their load
Promises of hope and cheer while tramping down the road.

II.

Night dreams and bright dreams! In the house of sleep
With their happy faces full and their gazes deep,
World on world so beautiful there they brightly bring,
Till the heart is happy in the songs they sing.
Day-dreams and Night-dreams,—all the dreams you will,—
Beckon up the rocky slope and summon o'er the hill,—
Summon us to do and dare all the deeds of yore
Till the battle ceases, and we strive no more!

I've made up my mind
In spite of the cranks,
'Tis a pretty good world
And we ought to give thanks;
And whether it came
From the God or the grime,
The fellow that runs it
Don't lose any time.
I've made up my mind
In spite of the tears.
That the world clambers up
With the roll of the years;
And whether it gropes
Or is led on and on,
It will come by and by
To the meadows of dawn.
In spite of the sin
And the folly around,
'Tis a much better place
Than the fore-fathers found;
And in spite of the fools
And the devils that grieve
I'm sure in no hurry
To pull up and leave.
So shut up your mouth
And don't grumble nor croak;
Go put your poor head
And your poor heart in soak;
Lay all of your sorrows
And sins on the shelf,
For the world is all right
If you're all right yourself!

Caught on the Fly.

If the girl with a white muslin dress and a picture hat has any troubles in this world she has a wonderful skill in hiding her real feelings.

Somehow, those men who are all the time telling how well money talks, never get well enough acquainted with it to speak with authority.

"De worst objection to de wortersmillion in Oklahomy," said a Mississippi black man, "is de fact dat it gits ripe too late fer de wheat harvest an' too yarly fer de cotton-pickin."

The average man grieves more when he runs out of chewing tobacco and the nearest neighbor who uses the filthy weed is three miles away, than he does when the mortgage takes the farm. Upon what little things doth happiness depend!

Mam's at a function where you hold your breath;
Liz has got a feller, an' she's talkin' him to death;
Andy has the measles, Susie's nussin' Bill,
Pap is out fer office an' he's runnin' fit to kill;
Pont an' me are fishin', all the signs are right,
Fer the crick is up a-boomin' an' the big fish bite!

The Kingbolt Philosopher.

"Ive heerd tell," said Uncle Ezra Mudge, "thet every dog has his day. But I'm jest as sartin thet he don't know he's a havin' of it when he has it.

"Now, thar was Bill Smith. Bill was a high-up chap, made money, had a rubber-tired buggy, four girls, and chawed terbacker thet cost a dollar a pound. But he never knowed he was a havin' of his day ontell he went busted on the Board of Trade. But now Bill knows it, and has knowed it ever sence he went busted."