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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
 
VERY SELECT SUNFLOWER. 
 
SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRY EDWARD MILLS. 
 
 FORT SCOTT, KANSAS: 
 
 THE SUNFLOWER PRESS. 
 1901. 
 
•1^ 3 S 4 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 CONGRESS, 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 OCT. 15 1901 
 
 Copyright entry 
 
 CLASS Ci XXc. No. 
 
 COPY 8. 
 
 11*1 
 
 Copyright 1901. 
 By HARRY EDWARD MILLS. 
 
 1901 
 
 MONITOR PRINTING COMPANY. 
 
 FORT SCOTT, KANS. 
 
TO 
 
 MY WIFE 
 
 WHOSE CHEERING WORDS HAVE BEEN THE 
 
 INSPIRATION OF THIS BOOK, IT IS 
 
 WITH DEEPEST AFFECTION 
 
 DEDICATED. 
 
PROEM. 
 
 A poem is a dream enmeshed 
 In music's measured chime ; 
 
 A spirit once again enfleshed 
 In feeling, sense and time. 
 
 A poem is a cry of pain ; 
 
 A doubt, a sigh, a tear ; 
 A lost Elysium, a vain 
 
 Regret, or foolish fear. 
 
 A poem is a shout of joy, 
 
 A paean of delight : 
 The gold of life without alloy, 
 
 The bliss without the blight. 
 
 A poem is celestial sense, 
 
 In earthly imagery. 
 'Tis music, art and eloquence 
 Engulfed in minstrelsy. 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Serenade of the Sunflowers 9 
 
 Submission 12 
 
 The Glass A-Wry 14 
 
 Shovelling Snow 16 
 
 The Railroad Man 18 
 
 Twilight Thoughts 21 
 
 My Epitaph 22 
 
 The Two Johns ...... . 24 
 
 The Baneful Gift . . . V 26 
 
 Moving On 28 
 
 The Invasion of Winter 31 
 
 When the House Keeps in Order All Day . . 34 
 
 The Early Frogs 36 
 
 The Yellow Dog 38 
 
 On A Rainy Night 41 
 
 When Baby Cries 42 
 
 Instructing Kitty on Christmas Eve 44 
 
 A Plea For The Kicker 46 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Grandma Pays The Bill 49 
 
 Interchanged 50 
 
 The Welcome Fault 53 
 
 In March 54 
 
 J. G. Holland 55 
 
 The Dreamland Shore 56 
 
 A Boy In Love 58 
 
 By and By 60 
 
 Convicted 62 
 
 The Squaw's Lullaby 71 
 
 Bother Billie 72 
 
 "Ye Ought to Wash One Another's Feet" . . 78 
 
 Broken Ranks 80 
 
 Keenan's Last Charge 82 
 
 Hezekiah Hayfield, Sr 86 
 
 Hezekiah Hayfield, Jr 91 
 
 Punkin Pie 95 
 
 The Cowboy Poet 97 
 
 The Sod House In Heaven 104 
 
SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 SERENADE OF THE SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 We are the original settlers, 
 And this is our commonwealth ; 
 We ever shall claim 
 
 Both the name 
 
 And the fame 
 Which the squatter has taken by stealth. 
 
 We came with the elk and the cactus ; 
 Not yet was the Indian here ; 
 And still we remain 
 
 Though the grain 
 Of the plain 
 Has banished the bison and deer. 
 
IO SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 We never would yield to invasion, 
 Though enemies thickened around. 
 When corn, wheat and rye 
 Raised their high 
 Battle cry 
 We laughed at their blusterous sound. 
 
 We cheered when the plowman attacked 
 
 us: 
 His furrows we hailed with delight. 
 Wherever he trod 
 Every rod 
 
 Of his sod 
 We seized as a prize of the fight. 
 
 The Sun is our gallant defender; 
 We thrive in his furious glow : 
 Then withers the maize 
 In the blaze 
 
 Of his rays, 
 But we only flourish and grow. 
 
SERENADE OF THE SUNFLOWERS. II 
 
 They wanted a title for Kansas, 
 A title resplendent and great ; 
 A name 
 
 That should shame 
 Every claim 
 
 To her fame ; 
 So they called her the Sunflower State. 
 
SUBMISSION. 
 
 "Good by," he whispered, "all, good by ; 
 
 It is God's way, His will be done."* 
 With choking rage and streaming eye, 
 
 A nation mourns her murdered son. 
 
 What vision, O beloved Chief, 
 Is flashed before thy closing eye ? 
 
 Is God in this, the whole world's grief, 
 And is it best that thou should'st die ? 
 
 Thou goest where we all must go, 
 But how untimely seems thine end — 
 
 So crushing, for we loved thee so, 
 Great President and greater friend. 
 
 The first fell shock had worn away, 
 And hope was rising clear and bright, 
 
 When suddenly the glow of day 
 Became the awful gloom of night. 
 
 *Dying words of President McKinley. 
 
SUBMISSION. 13 
 
 O for a faith serene as thine ! 
 
 O for thy calmness in it all ; 
 That we, too, might our will resign 
 
 To Him who marks each sparrow's fall. 
 
 With faltering voice we make reply 
 To thy farewell, O martyred one, 
 
 "Good by, Beloved Chief, good by, 
 It is God's way, His will be done." 
 
THE GLASS A-WRY. 
 
 I sometimes watch from a busy store 
 
 The people, as they pass, 
 Diminish and expand before 
 
 A wry-faced window glass. 
 
 They hasten on their sober ways, 
 And none among them knows 
 
 What acrobatic pranks and plays 
 His image undergoes. 
 
 And I am always saddened when 
 
 This travesty I see ; 
 It brings a grievous fault of men 
 
 So forcibly to me. 
 
 For men discard the lens of love, 
 And look through prejudice ; 
 
 They see the man they're thinking of 
 Distorted much like this. 
 
THE GLASS A- WRY. 1 5 
 
 And thus am I misunderstood, 
 
 What wonder I am sad ! 
 The very acts I mean for good, 
 
 They misconstrue as bad. 
 
 But some there be who understand, 
 
 Rare prophets, vision eyed; 
 With these I labor hand in hand, 
 
 Or suffer side by side. 
 
SHOVELLING SNOW. 
 
 Sparkling eyes, cheeks aglow, 
 
 See him shovelling through the snow. 
 Few will tread his opened way, 
 
 None his labors will repay; 
 
 Hear him humming soft and low, 
 As he shovels in the snow. 
 
 At a humble window see 
 Picture fair as fair can be ; 
 
 Maidenhood in rustic bloom 
 Standing by an idle broom. 
 
 How the blushes come and go 
 As she sees the flying snow. 
 
SHOVELLING SNOW. 1 7 
 
 Simple hearts so young and warm, 
 
 Love has taken you by storm. 
 May the winters as they roll, 
 
 Closer bind you soul to soul ; 
 
 May your heaven here below 
 Be as spotless as the snow. 
 
THE RAILROAD MAN. 
 
 Three cheers I say for the railroad 
 man, 
 The man whose nerves of steel 
 Brave death as only a hero's 
 can, 
 With every turn of the wheel. 
 
 The hazard of the rail is rife 
 With greater risk than war ; 
 
 The Mauser takes one noble life, 
 The grinding wheels a score. 
 
 The service, better year by year, 
 Is pushed with keenest vim ; 
 
 Yet new conveniences come dear 
 In railroad life and limb. 
 
THE RAILROAD MAN. 
 
 Excessive hours have grown in 
 
 length, 
 Till Nature fairly reels ; 
 While flesh and blood exhaust their 
 
 strength — 
 And then the deadly wheels, 
 
 Responsibility and risk 
 
 Confront him all the while. 
 
 What wonder he is brief and brisk, 
 In honest soldier style ? 
 
 His heart how fearless, warm, 
 sincere, 
 His handshake how intense. 
 And what a head, so cool and 
 clear 
 In sudden exigence. 
 
 His faith and trust in man beget 
 
 A faith in God as well, 
 What railroad man was ever yet 
 
 At heart an infidel ? 
 
 !9 
 
20 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 No better friend on earth than he, 
 No more unflinching foe ; 
 
 With honest need how kind and free, 
 How harsh with sham and show. 
 
 Then cheer the heroes of the rail, 
 Befriend them if in need ; 
 
 The Knighthood of the grimy mail, 
 The Chivalry of speed. 
 
TWILIGHT THOUGHTS. 
 
 A little evening prayer, a little bed ; 
 
 Two tired little feet, two heavy eyes ; 
 Soft pillowed on my breast a curly head ; 
 
 Forgetfulness bewitched with lullabies. 
 I kiss the dimpled cheeks then fondly stray 
 
 Across the mem'ry meadows of the day. 
 
 What trifles filled my darling's heart with 
 grief, 
 What simpler trifles turned it into joy; 
 A little fall brought tears, a kiss relief, 
 
 He offered scarf and mittens for a toy. 
 He talked all day about his cherished plan, 
 To be when grown an organ-grinder 
 man. 
 
 Sleep lays my riper follies by awhile : 
 Does God recount them then and fondly 
 smile ? 
 
MY EPITAPH. 
 
 O do not rear for me a granite shaft, 
 With massive base and heaven-piercing 
 peak ; 
 On which the sculptor's steel shall deftly 
 graft 
 Kind semi-falsehoods none would care 
 to speak. 
 
 But let a simple slab with name and date 
 Point out my resting place to friend and 
 foe ; 
 
 And should I merit rank among the great 
 Shame not the modest stone by saying so. 
 
 But rather let my memory be read ; 
 
 Let men look round them or inspect within. 
 There let them find the praises of their dead, 
 
 There let encomium end and begin. 
 
SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 23 
 
 Let me be monumented thus in love, 
 
 And I am sure that peace, serene and deep, 
 
 Will rule my spirit in the realms above, 
 When God shall give to His beloved sleep. 
 
THE TWO JOHNS. 
 
 Big John and Little John, 
 See them trudge and shuffle on; 
 Overgrown and undersize, 
 Sleepy eyes and sparkling eyes; 
 
 Black as night, 
 
 Lilly white, 
 What a droll and charming sight. 
 
 Big John is twenty-one, 
 Full of clumsy mirth and fun ; 
 Does the chores around the place, 
 Has the full moon for his face ; 
 
 Earth and skies 
 
 Idolize 
 Little John in Big John's eyes. 
 
THE TWO JOHNS. 25 
 
 Little John is nearly four, 
 Owns a steamboat, keeps a store, 
 Runs a circus, drives a hack, 
 Has a railroad, train and track. 
 
 Wants his hat, 
 
 Ball and bat, 
 Big John's little autocrat. 
 
 Little John and Big John, 
 Each the other's paragon ; 
 Partners in a thousand things, 
 Happy both of them as kings ; 
 
 Comic pair, 
 
 Swart and fair, 
 Yet together everywhere. 
 
THE BANEFUL GIFT. 
 
 "Sing," says Adolphus, and the minstrel 
 sings. 
 
 The soldiers barely lift their gloomy eyes. 
 But soon the magic voice and wizard strings, 
 
 Re-arm defeat with hopes of fresh emprise. 
 
 "Amazing!" cried the king, "in vain I 
 sought 
 To move my men as you their zeal inspire ; 
 Accept this jewel, with a kingdom bought, 
 And yet scarce meet for one of Heaven's 
 choir. 
 
 "Sing, mighty minstrel, thine euraptured 
 voice 
 Should rouse the heavy hearted far and 
 near. 
 Let sorrow 'neath thy soothing spell rejoice, 
 And let despair make way for hope and 
 cheer." 
 
SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 27 
 
 Again the singer raised his voice to siug, 
 Again pealed forth the strains surpassing 
 sweet. 
 
 But disappointment fell on court and king ; 
 The mystic charm was somehow incomplete. 
 
 For ever and anon the restless eye 
 
 Would fasten on that jewel fair as dawn. 
 
 And then, as if the blue should fail the sky, 
 A subtle something from the song was gone. 
 
 Days passed away : the gifted bard became 
 An empty dreamer o'er a priceless stone ; 
 Till scarce a spark remained of that rare 
 flame 
 Which lately with such wondrous light had 
 shone. 
 
 "Mine, mine the fault!" exclaimed the 
 troubled king. 
 He turned and gave an order to his men : 
 "Take from the bard that rare and costly 
 thing ! " 
 Then, then the singer sang with power again. 
 
MOVING ON. 
 
 My old horse is the biggest fool 
 Running loose on God's footstool. 
 Neighbors say so too, when they 
 See him browsing 'long the way- 
 Grass all round him everywhere, 
 He just nibbles here and there; 
 Always moving on and on 
 Like some fool automaton. 
 Nothing left but skin and bones ; 
 Looks as if he lived on stones. 
 Might as well look sleek and neat 
 If he'd just stand still and eat. 
 
 Well, perhaps he ain't to blame, 
 Since his owner does the same. 
 Forty years I've moved around; 
 Never liked no place I found. 
 I could stay a year or so ; 
 Then I'd have to pack and go. 
 
MOVING ON. 29 
 
 Never was no hand to shirk, 
 If I got a job of work. 
 Saved my money, too, but then 
 When I moved it went again. 
 
 So I reckon I have spent 
 Thousands if I have a cent, 
 Moving — moving here and there, 
 Not contented anywhere. 
 Now I'm almost sixty-three, 
 Just as poor as I can be. 
 Never owned a foot of ground, 
 Never will until I'm found 
 Resting in my little lot, 
 With a slab to mark the spot. 
 'Fraid I'll find it hard to lay 
 Till the Resurrection day 
 In the same place under ground, 
 Wish they'd let me move around; 
 Habits' got so strong with me, 
 'Spect its always goin' to be. 
 
 So betwixt me and my horse, 
 I'm the biggest fool of course, 
 
30 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Both of us is old and set, 
 Can't expect we'll ever get 
 Out of this unsettled state 
 Long as we can navigate. 
 
 Cluck, go-lang, Old Rough and Tough ! 
 We've been round here long enough. 
 
THE INVASION OF WINTER. 
 
 King Winter came storming and blustering 
 forth ; 
 Rigorous, boisterous, bold ; 
 His chargers the hail and the sleet of the 
 North, 
 His lash the implacable cold. 
 
 With snow for his mail and with wind for 
 his sword, 
 He fell on the shelterless sheep ; 
 While the last rose left blooming of Sum- 
 mer's vast horde, 
 Lay numbed in her last icy sleep. 
 
 Wherever he drove in tempestuous might, 
 All Nature acknowledged his sway; 
 
 The stream in its channel stood still with 
 affright, 
 The beast and the bird hied away. 
 
32 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Man fled to his castle and bolted his door, 
 Then doubled his armor of wool. 
 
 Old Boreas mocked him with shriek and 
 with roar ; 
 And charged like a furious bull. 
 
 Thus Winter invaded the breadth and the 
 length 
 
 Of Summer's deserted domain, 
 With insolent boast and invincible strength 
 
 He set up his tyrannous reign. 
 
 Yet even his madness a method confessed, 
 And beauty enshrouded his blight ; 
 
 For all the bleak landscape he lavishly 
 dressed 
 In robes of immaculate white. 
 
 He paved for the coaster the slope of the 
 
 hill, 
 
 Congealed for the skater the lake ; 
 
 The music of sleighbells, long silent and 
 
 still, 
 
 He sent over woodland and brake. 
 
THE INVASION OF WINTER. $3 
 
 Where blushes and maidenhood temptingly 
 met, 
 
 Where beauty his boldness excused, 
 His kiss left rare loveliness lovelier yet, 
 
 With the glow of Aurora suffused. 
 
 He tapped on the window with delicate 
 touch, 
 
 He etched from invisible plan 
 Fantastic festoonings and draperies such 
 
 As never were fashioned by man. 
 
 And thus far and wide this estheticist stern 
 
 His frigid dominion ordained. 
 His subjects, dismayed and delighted by 
 turn, 
 Now praised him, now loudly com- 
 plained. 
 
 But little cared he for approval or blame, 
 His heart was as cold as his head. 
 
 He reigned undisturbed till the Spring 
 cohorts came, 
 Then raging and raving he fled, 
 
WHEN THE HOUSE KEEPS IN ORDER 
 ALL DAY. 
 
 When the house keeps in order all day, 
 No chairs overturned on the floor, 
 No rocking horse left in the way, 
 No wagon obstructing the door; 
 No fragments of cookie or cake, 
 No traces of frolicsome play, 
 The heart strings of Motherhood break 
 When the house keeps in order all day. 
 
 When the house keeps in order all day, 
 
 No homely rag doll left around, 
 
 No pictures in scattered array, 
 
 No toys on the floor to be found, 
 
 No babyhood bruises and aches 
 
 For Papa to frolic away ; 
 
 What wonder a father's heart breaks, 
 
 When the house keeps in order all day. 
 
WHEN THE HOUSE KEEPS IN ORDER. 35 
 
 When the house keeps in order all day, 
 The soul has a right to lament, 
 Grief then holds legitimate sway, 
 And tears in compassion are sent. 
 But if in Elysian love 
 Our lost ones are only away, 
 Then, Heart, there is solace above, 
 When the house keeps in order all day. 
 
THE EARLY FROGS. 
 
 O, I love to hear the frogs 
 
 When they first begin to sing; 
 How they vocalize the bogs, 
 
 And vociferate the Spring. 
 How they carrol as they croak, 
 
 How they mingle jest and joke 
 With their solemn chant and dirge 
 
 On the river's slimy verge. 
 
 O, I love to hear the frogs, 
 
 For their monotone uncouth 
 Is the music of the cogs 
 
 Of the mill wheel of my youth. 
 And I listen half asleep, 
 
 And the eyes of mem'ry peep 
 Through the bars that hold me fast, 
 
 From the pleasures of the past. 
 
THE EARLY FROGS. 37 
 
 O, I love to hear the frogs, 
 
 For their melody is health 
 To the heart that worry flogs 
 
 With the lash of want or wealth. 
 And the cares of life take wing, 
 
 And its pleasures lose their sting, 
 And love's channel way unclogs 
 
 In the croaking of the frogs. 
 
THE YELLOW DOG. 
 
 Not the dog with yellow fur, 
 And with yellow sounding yelp; 
 
 Not the quadripedal cur, 
 Not the flea infested whelp. 
 
 But the yellow biped wretch, 
 Who invents the yellow trash, 
 
 Which the yellow papers stretch, 
 Into yellow balderdash. 
 
 He's the yellow dog I mean, 
 
 And his vitriolic pen 
 Bites with hydrophobic spleen, 
 
 In the crowded haunts of men. 
 
 How he chuckles, how he gloats, 
 Over crime and dark despair ; 
 
 How his very pencil notes 
 Horrify the pitying air ! 
 
THE YELLOW DOG. 39 
 
 And his dream of paradise 
 
 Is a place where, thick and fast, 
 
 Horrors and sensations rise, 
 Each more awful than the last. 
 
 So, to Heavenize the earth 
 
 With a Hell of dread dismay ; 
 
 And to compensate the dearth 
 Of the direful day by day ; 
 
 Seizes he some trivial act, 
 
 Born at some unguarded time, 
 Builds upon this molehill fact 
 
 Mountains of suspected crime. 
 
 None is safe with him around, 
 For the most untarnished name 
 
 And the purest virtue found 
 He is keenest to defame. 
 
 He has lost all sense of truth, 
 Falsehood is his very breath, — 
 
 Calumny his meat, forsooth 
 What to him is life or death ? 
 
4-0 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 But the incensed public cries: 
 
 "Outrage, thou hast done thy 
 worst ! 
 
 Justice, veil no more thine eyes ! 
 Vengence, let thy fury burst'" 
 
 And the yellow dog turns pale, 
 For in dread alarm he hears 
 
 Of a dog who lost his tail 
 Just behind his yellow ears. 
 
ON A RAINY NIGHT. 
 
 My love tonight is far away; 
 
 And I am sad and lonely; 
 My restive spirit night and day 
 
 Is longing for her only. 
 
 I see her in my fondest moods, 
 She haunts the parlor hallway; 
 
 And yet her form my clasp eludes, 
 Her lips my kisses alway. 
 
 But soon our lives will intertwine, 
 As now our loves are blended; 
 
 For I am hers and she is mine, 
 Till life and love are ended. 
 
WHEN BABY CRIES. 
 
 'Tis hard to go away from home 
 
 When Baby cries ; 
 To see the drops of pearly grief 
 In his dear eyes; 
 
 To hear the echo of his voice 
 
 Far down the street, 
 Sobs choking back the farewell words 
 
 So sad and sweet. 
 
 All day the loving sound returns 
 
 To memory's ear ; 
 And now and then I brush away 
 
 Myself a tear. 
 
 For troublous thoughts sometimes 
 attempt 
 My dark alarm : 
 "Perchance my darling boy to-day 
 Will meet with harm!" 
 
WHEN BABY CRIES. 43 
 
 A moment only, then I drive 
 
 The fear away ; 
 Full well I know the angels guard 
 
 Him night and day. 
 
 And when at dusk I come again 
 
 His shout of glee 
 Repays the morning debt of pain 
 
 To him and me. 
 
INSTRUCTING KITTY ON 
 CHRISTMAS EVE. 
 
 Listen, Kitty, while I tell you 
 
 'Bout old Santa Claus. 
 Stop your purring, lie real quiet, 
 
 Fold your frisky paws. 
 
 Are you ready? Well, in Greenlaud 
 
 Where it's always cold, 
 Santa has a big toy garden 
 
 Full as it will hold 
 
 Of doll-trees and doll-clothes bushes, 
 
 Little cradle vines, 
 Thimble plants and needle grasses, 
 
 Ribbon elms and pines; 
 
 Little wash tubs on the willows, 
 
 Little wringers too, 
 Little stoves and little dishes, 
 
 Doll-beds white and blue. 
 
INSTRUCTING KITTY ETC. 45 
 
 Everywhere there's lots of candy, 
 
 Even on the ground; 
 Candy rats and mice and rabbits 
 
 Running all around. 
 
 When its Christmas Eve Old Santa 
 
 With his deer and sled 
 Brings us lots and lots of presents 
 
 After we're in bed. 
 
 Bat tonight he's coming early, — 
 
 O the things he'll bring! 
 Listen! You can hear his sleigh bells 
 
 Ting-a-ling-a-ling. 
 
A PLEA FOR THE KICKER. 
 
 Don't kick the kicker, let him be ; 
 Some other things are worse than he : 
 The chintz bug, or the rattlesnake, 
 The drought, the flood, the awful quake 
 Of heaving continents that show 
 The molten fury pent below. 
 
 Don't kick the kicker, let him tear 
 His own and other people's hair. 
 It doesn't hurt them very much, 
 And as for him it offers such 
 Relief and comfort just to rave, 
 That he who stops him is a knave. 
 
 Don't kick the kicker, let him fuss, 
 He's kicking for the rest of us. 
 We haven't time to fume and fret 
 Because it's hot, cold, dry or wet. 
 We haven't time to howl and whine 
 At every mercantile combine. 
 
A PLEA FOR THE KICKER 47 
 
 And who of us would waste his wits 
 Exposing stenchy hypocrites! 
 We need our muscle and our brain 
 For raising other kinds of cane. 
 However fate and fortune mix 
 Let's let the kickers make our kicks. 
 
 Don't kick the kicker, let him kick 
 It's wiser and more politic. 
 For kickers might be doing worse 
 Than kicking at the Universe. 
 They might be forcing other folks 
 To laugh at vapid puns and jokes. 
 
 They might be moving Heaven and earth 
 To bring some foolery to birth; 
 Might go and swell the crowded ranks 
 Of wild vagarians and cranks, 
 Whose heads re-echo with the sound 
 Of wheels that rattle round and round. 
 
 So, lest the harmless kicker might 
 Invent some black that should be white; 
 
48 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Some under that should be above; 
 Some hatred just as good as love; 
 Some health with which to slay the sick- 
 Its better just to let him kick. 
 
GRANDMA PAYS THE BILL. 
 
 Before the busy merchant 
 Stood pretty little Bess. 
 
 " I want some doff for dollie. 
 Enough to make a dwess. " 
 
 " What color? little lady! " 
 The pleasant dealer said. 
 ''Why, don't you know?" she 
 
 answered, 
 11 1 want it awful red." 
 
 He smiled and cut the fabric 
 For the delighted Miss. 
 
 "What does it cost?" she ques- 
 tioned. 
 He answered, "Just one kiss." 
 
 And then the clerks who heard 
 her 
 
 Went roaring up and down. 
 " My Dran'ma said she'd pay you 
 
 Next time she tomes up town." 
 
INTERCHANGED. 
 
 We wandered by the willows 
 My little love and I; 
 Beside the crested billows, 
 Beneath the jewelled sky. 
 
 Our troth had long been spoken, 
 Our nuptial day long set; 
 But now my voice was broken, 
 And her fair cheek was wet. 
 
 One fear, one bitter feeling — 
 Each fully understood: 
 A cannon's cruel pealing, 
 A maiden's widowhood! 
 
 She whispered as we parted 
 With anguished trembling sigh, 
 "I live, but broken hearted, 
 You go away to die." 
 
INTERCHANGED. 51 
 
 I went away to battle; 
 Faced bayonet and ball, 
 Where men like herded cattle 
 By thousands fight and fall. 
 
 Yet not a mark I carried, 
 When mustered out of strife; 
 And not an hour I tarried 
 From her my soul, my life. 
 
 Home, home at last! — Ah, sorrow. 
 A bell bewailed the dead. 
 "With joy 'twill ring tomorrow 
 When she and I are wed," 
 
 "When she and I are married!" 
 I waited by the tract, 
 The mourner's carriage carried 
 Her mother past in black. 
 
 She read my face and nodded. 
 I staggered, dumb with grief. 
 "O grave, untimely sodded! 
 O Death, relentless thief!" 
 
52 INTERCHANGED. 
 
 Lost loved one, thy forebodings 
 Were merely disarranged; 
 For rne thou felt their goadings, 
 But we are interchanged. 
 
THE WELCOME FAULT. 
 
 I knew a man of massive mold, 
 
 I hnng upon his every word ; 
 He made the truth so clear and bold 
 
 I wished that angels might have heard. 
 
 I buttressed hope and banished fear 
 
 With his strong faith, my own was dim. 
 
 A fierce temptation ventured near; 
 It fled before the thought of him. 
 
 So masterful his giant will, 
 
 So keen his logic, pure his breast, 
 
 My admiration grew until 
 
 His very excellence oppressed. 
 
 Must I beside the Christ exalt 
 
 This man and worship at his feet ? 
 
 Thank God, I found one day a fault ; 
 
 And then his manhood seemed complete. 
 
IN MARCH. 
 
 A tyrant hears birth tidings of a child, 
 Whom prophecy has destined for his throne; 
 With mingled scorn and apprehension wild, 
 He vows her death or ever she be grown. 
 
 He summons all his fury and assails 
 
 With frigid wrath the sweet and fragile maid, 
 
 His cruel art mysteriously fails; 
 
 Her very youth protects her from his blade. 
 
 And see, his onslaught is his own defeat; 
 For Nature's gallant Knighthood charges forth — 
 The Sun and South Wind and the Early Heat— 
 And drive him to his fastness in the North. 
 
 Thus fades one Monarch in another's dawn; 
 While man and nature with glad voices sing: 
 "Begone, King Winter, may you long begone! 
 All hail beloved Q leen, the virgin Spring." 
 
J. G. HOLLAND. 
 
 And did he say, "more human, more divine 
 Is womankind than man may hope to be, 
 
 When his own virtues and his verse combine 
 To prove none choicer on the earth than he ? 
 
 He offers woman his sincerest praise; 
 
 A tribute artless, unaffected, sweet; 
 When, all unconscious of himself, he lays 
 
 Himself and all his sex before her feet. 
 
 O, magic lyrist, we of lesser touch 
 
 Would tune our harps to thine exalted key ; 
 
 That we might eulogize her just as much 
 
 In this: "more human, more divine than we." 
 
THE DREAMLAND SHORE. 
 
 Safe on the Dreamland Shore, 
 
 Bathed by its dream-tossed tide; 
 Resting his dream dipped oar 
 
 There at the dream-sea side; 
 Baby has left his play, 
 
 Lured on by dreamland lore, 
 Till he is far away, 
 
 Safe on the Dreamland Shore. 
 
 Now where the dream-bells chime, 
 
 Softly from dream -lit towers; 
 Heedless of dream-winged time, 
 
 Soothed by dream-scented flowers; 
 Rest, little boatman, rest, 
 
 Half way to Heaven once more; 
 Thou art the dream-god's guest, 
 
 There on the Dreamland Shore. 
 
THE DREAMLAND SHORE. 57 
 
 Stay till the morning breaks, 
 
 Breaks from the bars of night; 
 Stay till the robin wakes, 
 
 Wakes with the new born light. 
 Then lift thine anchor aft, 
 
 Then raise thy canvas fore, 
 Dream -winds thy sails will waft 
 
 Back from the Dreamland Shore. 
 
A BOY IN LOVE. 
 
 When verdant fancies first enshrine 
 Fair maidenhood in dreams divine, 
 
 The awkward graces of the youth 
 
 Are signboards setting forth the truth. 
 
 His dingy shoes your glances greet 
 Like mirrors fastened to his feet. 
 
 His hair he curries and he clears 
 The real estate from out his ears. 
 
 His finger nails obtain relief 
 From their insignia of grief. 
 
 His buttonholes no longer stare 
 
 Untenanted from everywhere. 
 Bat seedy coat and grimy vest 
 
 Give way before his Sunday best. 
 His cap, the darling of his heart, 
 
 Is told that bosom friends must part; 
 And in its place a stylish hat 
 
 Smiles down upon his loud cravat. 
 
A BOY IN LOVE. 59 
 
 His manners also come to life ; 
 
 He eats no longer with his knife. 
 His hands bear evidence of soap ; 
 
 He ceases saying "Yep" and "Nope." 
 He catches cold and, strange to say, 
 
 A handkerchief comes into play. 
 He tramples on some lady's toe, 
 
 But begs her pardon bowing low. 
 In short an outlaw, reckless, wild, 
 
 Is Evolution's favored child ; 
 And by an unsuspected plan 
 
 There comes to light the gentleman. 
 
 The force is ancient as the race 
 By which this miracle takes place. 
 
 The magic talisman thereof 
 Is simply this — a lover's love. 
 
 The sages tell us love is blind : 
 
 Perhaps he is, but he can find 
 With wondrous certainty the best 
 
 That slumbers in the youthful breast. 
 
BY AND BY. 
 
 O the charms of "By and By," 
 
 In a world of toil and gloom. 
 
 Like a glory-tinted sky 
 
 Rise they o'er the wrecks of doom. 
 When the heart is bowed with grief, 
 " By and By " brings sweet relief. 
 
 " By and By " is all the hope 
 Of the man who blunders on; 
 In its vast and boundless scope, 
 In its hither and its yon, 
 All he strove for low or high 
 Will be given him " By and By." 
 
 "By and By" is Heaven's Nurse 
 Soothing earth's unhappy child; 
 How she turns us from life's worse 
 To its better; and beguiled 
 Is the heart and ear and eye 
 With thy croonings "By and By." 
 
BY AND BY. 6 1 
 
 O bewitching " By and By," 
 Loved enchantress of the race, 
 Thou canst silence any sigh, 
 Build air castles any place. 
 Be they truth or be they lie, 
 vSweet thine accents, " By and By." 
 
 "By and By," O ll By and By, " 
 What were life without thy boon ? 
 Hopes deferred on thee rely, 
 As November sighs for June. 
 O delights that cannot die: 
 "By and By," O " By and By." 
 
CONVICTED. 
 
 O Justice, how canst thou endure the sight 
 
 Of human devils turning black to white, 
 
 Or white to black— and branding it "the right" ! 
 
 It happened that a wealthy man was slain. 
 The murderer escaped, but left a stain 
 Of dark suspicion on an humble swain. 
 
 The Law put prison bars around the youth— 
 A lank and lumbering foreigner uncouth— 
 Until the courts might ascertain the truth. 
 
 The State's Attorney saw with skillful glance 
 How he could make the threads of fact and chance 
 A net-work of convicting circumstance 
 
 About the luckless stranger; yet he knew 
 
 That what he "proved" would have to be untrue. 
 
 And as he sat and pondered what to do, 
 
CONVICTED. 63 
 
 A letter reached him from a distant friend : 
 
 " The corporation is about to send 
 
 A man to hear you. He will recommend 
 
 Some shrewd attorney for that vacant place 
 At twenty thousand ; you are in the race. 
 Don't let yonr rival dust you in the face." 
 
 That letter sealed the young defendant's fate. 
 "He's got to be convicted !" cried the "State." 
 " Ye Gods ! " he chuckled, " lazy luck, but 
 great ! " 
 
 The case was called, the war of wits began; 
 The gaping crowd was brightened by one man 
 Who closely watched the State's unfolding plan. 
 
 Day after day he came, and on his face 
 
 The court room loafers thought that they could 
 
 trace 
 A deep concern for the defendant's case. 
 
64 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Not so the State's Attorney, for he knew 
 What end the keen-eyed stranger had in view ; 
 And all his skill into the fight he threw. 
 
 He took the opposition by surprise. 
 
 The Judge and jury sat with bulging eyes, 
 
 As link by link he forged his chain of lies. 
 
 He dared not fix his observation base 
 Upon the anguish of the prisoner's face 
 When like a fiend he crushed him in disgrace. 
 
 But with a stormy conscience in his breast, 
 
 He paced about in ill-concealed unrest, 
 
 Yet "proved" the swain a murderer self-confessed. 
 
 The verdict, " murder in the first degree." 
 
 The sentence, "death by hanging," and the fee, 
 
 Won by the "State" — that tempting vacancy. 
 
 Such fortune brought him hosts of fawning friends, 
 That polished social riff-raff which attends 
 Upon the heels of all who win their ends. 
 
CONVICTED. 65 
 
 And for a time the lucky man forgot, 
 With all this siren stuff and blarney rot, 
 The victim of his heartless underplot. 
 
 Till once in sleep he seemed within a cell, 
 
 A burning dungeon. Then he thought he fell, 
 
 From off a gallows to the depths of Hell. 
 
 The morning broke, and with his waking breath 
 He cried: "O Justice, how thou blundereth ! 
 I must prevent that boy's atrocious death." 
 
 But faulty recollection now held sway, 
 He thought the fatal farce a month away 
 Whereas the youth was hanged that very day. 
 
 And when the awful headlines caught his eye — 
 " Upon the gallows he would still deny 
 His guilt, but yet he had to die" — 
 
 His eye grew glassy and his knees grew weak; 
 A friend addressed him, when he tried to speak 
 He dropped his paper with a smothered shriek. 
 
66 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Thenceforth the world became a Hell for him ; 
 
 The air grew stifling and the sunlight dim ; 
 
 His friends were monsters, hollow-eyed and grim. 
 
 He wandered to a lonely spot one day. 
 
 In agony he tried and tried to pray, 
 
 But every bird and insect seemed to say : 
 
 " 'Tis he, the cursed Cain ! behold his brand, 
 His guilty eye, the blood stains on his hand ! 
 He prays — the fool — God knows the deed he 
 planned! " 
 
 Poor haunted wretch, he scarcely ate or slept, 
 
 But like a girl hysterically wept 
 
 As through his frame convulsive shudders crept. 
 
 One morning in the court-room he appeared, 
 With haggard face, disheveled hair and beard. 
 His nervous eye was piercing wild and weird. 
 
 Yet when he spoke his words were calm and sane. 
 He only craved permission to explain 
 The truth about that wealthy farmer slain. 
 
CONVICTED. 67 
 
 You might have heard hearts beating all around, 
 
 Or caught a falling pin's metallic sound, 
 
 As point by point his startling tale unwound. 
 
 The case in full review from first to last, 
 With marvelous lucidity was passed 
 Before the Judge who listened half aghast. 
 
 For with a grief unspeakably intense, 
 He saw the blunders of the weak defense ; 
 And knew that Law had murdered innocence. 
 
 But when the speaker reached his closing word, 
 The blood stood still in every one who heard, 
 And in the silence no one breathed or stirred, 
 
 " O Judge, I slew that man, I took his gold. 
 
 Here in my hand the very bag I hold 
 
 On which he wrote his name in letters bold. 
 
 " I saw him hide the bag. With stealthy tread 
 I went and took it; but before I fled 
 He fell upon me and I struck him dead. 
 
68 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 "And then with garbled evidence I built 
 A cross on which the sinless blood was spilt 
 Of him I slew to hide my other guilt. 
 
 " But I have suffered like the damned in Hell. 
 Grant me a murderer's sentence and his cell, 
 And then a murderer's death — and all is well." 
 
 In time the charge of murder was preferred 
 Against the wrecked attorney, and he heard 
 With beaming face his sentence word by word. 
 
 The day of execution came and he 
 
 Spoke for a moment from the gallows-tree: 
 
 " O former friends, this hour of doom to me 
 
 "Is far the happiest and most sublime 
 Of all the golden hours of all past time. 
 For I today shall expiate my crime. 
 
 "And, Mr. Sheriff, I have one request: 
 My dying statement lies here on my breast, 
 Please have it read when I am laid to rest." 
 
CONVICTED. 69 
 
 Around his open grave from near and far 
 
 Stood many former comrades of the bar, 
 
 Who mourned the brilliance of his earlier star. 
 
 The Judge unsealed his dying words and read: 
 ' ' Dear friends ; since L am numbered with the dead 
 Believe I beg you what herein is said. 
 
 "I did not kill the farmer, and I lied 
 When I confessed his tragic homicide. 
 May God forgive me, I was sorely tried." 
 
 They could not read the rest, for every word 
 By trickling blood had been forever blurred; 
 The truth they craved could only be inferred. 
 
 And so the Judge above the shrouded bier, 
 Reviewed the brilliant yet ill-starred career 
 Of him whose grief was fatally sincere. 
 
 "We must believe," he said, "if any man 
 Will falsify and scheme by every plan 
 To win the most disgraceful death he can, 
 
70 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 " That Conscience holds her cruel lash and rein 
 
 Above his aching heart and fevered brain, 
 
 And chains him to remorse with madd'ning chain 
 
 " Such sorrow ruled the dead, but who of us 
 Would make atonement for our own sins thus ? 
 Enormous crime, repentance glorious! 
 
 "Who slew the farmer we may never know; 
 But surely it was not this son of woe, 
 Nor yet the rustic whom he outraged so. 
 
 " And now we lay his form beneath the sod; 
 
 Dust will return to dust and clod to clod; 
 
 His soul, death-shriven, let us leave with God." 
 
THE SQUAW'S LULLABY. 
 
 Sleep, my little papoose; 
 
 Thy father hunteth the moose; 
 
 For thee and me he wanders long, 
 
 His heart is brave, his hand is strong, 
 His bow is mighty as the oak, 
 His arrow is the lightning's stroke, 
 
 la vain the wild fowl shun his noose; 
 
 Sleep, my little papoose. 
 
 Sleep, my little papoose; 
 The hooting owl is loose; 
 
 The fawn is sleeping by the doe, 
 
 The calf beside the buffalo, 
 The turkey hen above her brood 
 Is guarding lest the wolf intrude, 
 
 The gosling nestles 'neath the goose; 
 
 Sleep, my little papoose. 
 
BOTHER BILLIE. 
 
 Little Bother Billie always wants a hand 
 Into all my doin's. Can't yet understand 
 
 How I ever managed, 'fore he came around 
 Gettin' out the taters from the tater ground. 
 
 Little Bother Billie has a little hoe, 
 Little tater digger, little wheelbarrow. 
 
 Buckles into diggin', works with lots o' grit ; 
 At it 'bout two minutes, thinks it's time to quit. 
 
 Stan's around an' jabbers 'bout a thousand things ; 
 " Do the crows dig taters? Why ain't we got wings? 
 
 What's the tater bugs for ? Where's their house 
 
 an' barn ? 
 Do the birds make mittens out o' spider yarn ? 
 
BOTHER BILLIE. 73 
 
 'Spect the' is some doughnuts on the pantry shelf." 
 Off he trudges jabb'rin' to his little self. 
 
 Mammy's jest a-fryin' of 'em in the grease. 
 Back he comes a-nibblin' on his little "piece." 
 
 " Daddy, here's a doughnut Mammy fried fer you. 
 Ain't got time to eat it? Got too much to do ? 
 
 Shall I eat it fer you? Help you out ? All right. 
 Good by, Mr. Doughnut." Soon it's out of sight. 
 
 Then he opens fire on the hired man : 
 
 " Peter, what is sparkin' with Matildie Ann? 
 
 Does she poke the fire when she wants a spark ? 
 Ain't you'fraid, jest her an' you sittin' in the dark? 
 
 Mammy says that sparkin's loony-like an' soft ; 
 Does it hurt you like the grippe when you coughed 
 and coughed ? 
 
 Git some spark pills Peter from old Granny Nye, 
 Don't git soft an' loony 'cause I'm 'fraid.you'll die." 
 
74 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Then I drop my digger, can't hold in no more ; 
 Pete gits red as fire, while I roar an' roar. 
 
 Bother Billie stan's there watchin' Pete git red, 
 Makes a bee-line fer the house, — som'piu's in his 
 head. 
 
 Dinner time : all eatin'; Billie brings a can: 
 "Peter, here's them spark pills fer you an' 'Tildie 
 Ann." 
 
 Me an' mammy's bustin', 'Tildie Ann an' Pete 
 Look like wolves at Billie, innocent an' sweet. 
 
 All he says is, " Granny sent you these here pills ; 
 Says if people take 'em sparkin' never kills." 
 
 'Tildie Ann she 'members 'bout some kitchen 
 
 chores ; 
 Pete he takes to coughin', has to git out doors. 
 
 Me an' mammy sits there holdin' of our sides ; 
 Only Bother Billie peels the tater hides. 
 
BOTHER BILLIE. 75 
 
 Evenin': Pete an' 'Tildie steals away to spark; 
 Tired Bother Billie sleepin' in the dark. 
 
 Mammy sits a-patchin' overalls er blouse, 
 Me a-sortin' taters at the tater house. 
 
 Pickin' out the biggest, tops the load so nice ; 
 Ain't quite fair,but — hang it — brings a better price. 
 
 Have to see if Billie's sleepin' safe an' sound. 
 Kind o' lonesome workin' when he ain't around. 
 
 Goin' in his Mammy tells me what he said, 
 Drowsy-like, a-layin' in his little bed. 
 
 Mumbled like a feller when he's sleepy does: 
 ' ' Daddy-he's-the-bestest-man-that-ever- was. ' ' 
 
 Them there words they stuck me like they was a 
 
 sword. 
 Bet they was a warnin' sent me from the Lord. 
 
76 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Back I went a-flyin', to that tater bin, 
 Big and little taters I mixed up agin. 
 
 Then them sneakin' feelin's took their cursed 
 
 flight; 
 I could face my baby, face him day or night. 
 
 Went where he was layin', kneeled down by his bed, 
 'Peared like the' was angels standin' round his 
 head. 
 
 Moon was shinin' on him, he was smilin', an' 
 Mumblein' at som'pin',— listen — "bestest-man." 
 
 Then I made a promise ; needn't tell you whut, 
 Only it has kep' me out o' many a rut. 
 
 Awful high opinion what he thinks o' me, 
 But it's what I'm tryin' every day to be. 
 
BOTHER BILLIE 77 
 
 If my resolution I can only keep, 
 
 Practice while a-workin' what he preached asleep, 
 
 Maybe them there angels from the shinin' shore, 
 Will look out fer Billie when I can't no more. 
 
"YE OUGHT TO WASH ONE ANOTHER'S 
 FEET." 
 
 Two men: I knew them well; 
 They lived a mile apart, 
 And I a mile from each. 
 One fellowshipped with those 
 Who hold the letter of 
 The law ; the other with 
 A sect that keep its spirit. 
 
 I have seen the first 
 With towel girt, a basin 
 In his hand, half-prostrate 
 'Midst his co-interpreters, 
 Each wholly bared of foot. 
 Keeping, with hard exactitude, 
 A custom to their age 
 And laud unknown, though once 
 In honored vogue afar. 
 
VK OUGHT TO WASH, ETC. 
 
 And I have seen the other, 
 Take a Christian who had erred 
 And help him crystallize 
 His grief to real repentance. 
 Then in the wronged and wrathful 
 Congregation did he stand, 
 And voice the sorrow of 
 The sinning one, pleading 
 For Christly kindness till 
 The hardest heart gave way, 
 The driest eye o'erflowed, and all 
 Was love and restoration. 
 Then I exclaimed: "It is 
 My second neighbor who 
 Has washed his fellow's feet." 
 
 79 
 
BROKEN RANKS. 
 
 Hurrah ! the heroes come again, 
 To native land from far Luzon. 
 
 Ye mountain tops awake the strain ! 
 Ye cliffs reply in thundrous tone ! 
 
 Where long abuse revolt had bred, 
 They went to give the isles release; 
 
 To banish strife and in its stead 
 To lay the corner stone of peace. 
 
 The eager soldiers march away, 
 Before them danger, glory, death ; 
 
 Hearts just as brave behind them stay, 
 And wait for news with bated breath. 
 
 But, home again, their duty done — 
 Unfurl the banuer, beat the drum — 
 
 They come; and yet, alas for one ! 
 With broken ranks the heroes come. 
 
BROKEN RANKS. 8l 
 
 A mother far across the sea, 
 
 Heavy with grief and blind with tears, 
 Bewails the sou who ne'er shall be 
 
 The stay of her declining years. 
 
 Her gift surpasses tongue or pen, 
 And challenges a nation's thank?. 
 
 We bow onr heads in reverence when 
 The brave return with broken ranks. 
 
KEENAN'S LAST CHARGE. 
 
 Onward they dash with impetuous will — 
 Stonewall is leading at Chancellorsville ; 
 Leading the last of his whirlwind attacks, 
 Routing the Bluecoats and hounding their 
 tracks. 
 
 Madly they crush 
 
 Through the dense underbrush, 
 Vanquished and victors confused in the rush. 
 
 Silent the lips of the cannon's hot mouth, 
 Silent before the implacable South. 
 How can a moment of respite be won ! 
 Time just to load and align gun by gun. 
 
 Keenan stands there ! 
 
 Will the brave fellow dare 
 Rush to his doom that the rest may prepare? 
 
keenan's last charge. 83 
 
 Sharp comes the order and quickly he said : 
 "General, nothing but death is ahead, 
 But I will check them." He galloped away, 
 Into the teeth of the furious fray. 
 
 O what a sight ! 
 
 Death as sure as the night ! 
 Three hundred troopers ten thousand to fight. 
 
 Only a moment the brave little band 
 Check the fierce onslaught of Jackson's com- 
 mand. 
 Only a moment — but that is enough. 
 Pleasanton meets them with fearful rebuff 
 
 Volleys of shell 
 
 Answer every wild yell; 
 Death meets disaster and Hell faces Hell. 
 
 Backward the staggering rebels are hurled, 
 Freedom still lives in a slave-ridden world. 
 Night soothes the furious passions of day. 
 Silent the Johnnies at last steal away. 
 
 Horrible war, 
 
 Wilt thou never be o'er ! 
 Keenan thy victim and must thou have more? 
 
84 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Keenan, forgive us for waiting so long; 
 Glory is sometimes neglected of song. 
 Laurels coquette with the brow of the brave, 
 Fame often hides with the great in his grave. 
 
 Hero uncrowned 
 
 Thy renown shall abound 
 Far as our voices can carry its sound. 
 
HCZEKIAH HftYHELD, 
 
 SENIOR and JUNIOR. 
 
 The Hayfields moved to Kansas in early days, and 
 settled on a claim near the center of the State. Here Mr. 
 Hayfield built a two-roomed sod house, and here the 
 family have passed many days of industrious content. 
 Early and late they have wrestled with the rich soil until 
 they have compelled it to yield them a very fair competence. 
 Mr. Hayfield loves his homestead, enjoys his unpretentious 
 dwelling and does not care to be Governor. Mrs. Hayfield 
 is equally content with their simple lot, her greatest pride 
 being in her gilt edged butter, which has been praised and 
 premiumed at every county fair for years. Simple, old- 
 fashioned piety regulates the household and frugality is 
 its watchword. The family is a numerous one, blessed with 
 perfect health and a good degree of everyday intelligence. 
 
HEZEKIAH HAYFIELD SR. 
 
 [One spring just before plowing time Mr. Hayfield went 
 to visit a brother-in-law one county to the west. The 
 two farmers agreed on most matters, but when it came to 
 the question which is better, country or city life, they 
 differed with vigor The host said that as soon as pos- 
 sible he should sell his farm and move to town. Mr. 
 Hay field delivered himself as follows: ] 
 
 My neighbors Peter Perkins an' Ebenezer Brown 
 Hev shook the farm dust off their feet an' moved 
 away to town. 
 
 They're goin' to ride the Billy in the Sons o'Rest 
 
 I guess; 
 But they'll be sick o' loafin' round in thirty days 
 er less. 
 
 O'course it aiu't my lookout, but I swan it's hard to 
 
 see 
 How they can live, shut up in town the way 
 
 they'll hev to be. 
 
HEZEKIAH HAYFIELD SR. 87 
 
 There's houses on both sides of 'em an' neighbors 
 
 all around; 
 Can't hardly raise no garden truck, they'll hev so 
 
 little ground; 
 
 Can't keep no pigs ner chickens er their neigh- 
 bors' 11 raise cain; 
 
 Won't hev no eggs to sell, ner cheese, er butter, 
 hay er grain. 
 
 It's allers been a puzzle what so many town folks 
 
 do 
 To make a livin' ; yit somehow they seem to worry 
 
 through. 
 
 But there's nothin' beats the country if content- 
 ment's what you like, 
 
 Where the bees is allers workin' an' the chickens 
 never strike ; 
 
 Where the hogs grunt lazy music ez they waller in 
 
 the mud, 
 While the cattle lay an' listen keepin' time 
 
 a-chewin' cud; 
 
88 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Where the katydids an' crickets keep their drum- 
 
 min' up all night, 
 An' the larks begin their singin' in the mornin' 
 
 'fore it's light; 
 
 While the chorus at the fish-pond run a sort o' 
 
 music race 
 With whatever else is singin', bringin' in their 
 
 bull-frog bass; 
 
 Where the prairie dogs is barkin' ez they lay round 
 
 in the sun, 
 An' a blue streak paints the meador — some jack 
 
 rabbit on the run. 
 
 An' the moonlight in the country is so mellow-like 
 an' soft 
 
 'Bout the time you store the sweetness of the sum- 
 mer in the loft. 
 
 What a sight to see the apples ez they hang upon 
 
 the trees 
 Git to blushin' at the kisses of the sunshine an' 
 
 the breeze ! 
 
HEZEKIAH HAYFIELD, SR. 89 
 
 How the watermelons chuckle when you thump 
 
 'em in the patch ; 
 How the horses neigh an' whinner when you lift 
 
 the stable latch. 
 
 How the turkeys strut an' gobble, how the guineas 
 
 run an' screech, 
 How the roosters pitch their crowin' jest ez high 
 
 ez they can reach. 
 
 O, to see the stock a-fattenin' an' their hair a-layin' 
 
 sleek, 
 An' to see the feathers growin' ez the geese invade 
 
 the creek; 
 
 An' to hear the corn leaves rustle every time the 
 
 breezes blow, 
 An' to watch yer wheat fields whiten till they look 
 
 like golden snow — 
 
 O, it's these things makes a feller think he's struck 
 
 the promised land 
 Where there's streams o' milk an' honey runnin' 
 
 over silver sand. 
 
90 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 O, it's these things makes a feller hang around his 
 
 timber claim, 
 An' it's these things makes the pleasures of the 
 
 city seem so tame. 
 
 Go an' live there ef you want to, git yer little nar- 
 
 rer lot; 
 Build yer brick er wooden oven, twixt two others 
 
 jest ez hot. 
 
 But you'll find me in the country where I'm goin' 
 
 to live an' die, 
 An' I hope it ain't all city round the Mansions up 
 
 on High. 
 
 Fer I love the rollin' prairies as the sailor loves 
 
 the sea; 
 One smooth Kansas quarter-section — plenty good 
 
 enough for me. 
 
HEZEKIAH HAYFIELD, JR. 
 
 [Young Hayfield is twenty years of age— a lad in 
 whom ambition and awkwardness are evenly balanced. 
 He has always been on familiar terms with the plow, but 
 has twice attended the State Fair and has become infatu- 
 ated with city life as he has seen it. He takes issue with 
 his father in the following language:] 
 
 They say thet the farmer is king of the soil, 
 An' lives like a lord on the fruit of his toil; 
 
 Has nothin' to worry him, nothiu' to fear, 
 But jest keeps a-prosperin' year after year. 
 
 He has fer his partners the wind an' the rain; 
 The sun scatters gold on his acres of grain, 
 
 An' keeps 'em a-growin' while he is asleep, 
 An' loads 'em with wealth when they're ready to 
 reap. 
 
 The farmer is only jest playin' at work; 
 
 Not half so hard pressed ez the merchant er clerk. 
 
92 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 This sounds awful nice, but I jest want to say 
 That when you're a-farmin' it don't work that 
 way. 
 
 There's lots of things worse than the farm seems 
 
 to me; 
 An' yet it ain't half what its cracked up to be. 
 
 There's drought an' there's chintz bugs, there's 
 
 hail an' there's rust; 
 There's grasshoppers hatchin' right out o' the 
 
 dust. 
 
 Yer sheep are a picnic fer coyotes an' dogs; 
 An' cholera kills half yer chickens an' hogs. 
 
 Yer windmills an' pumps hev a lot o' mean tricks, 
 An' lay awake nights jest to git out o' fix. 
 
 An' you are forever a tinkerin' away 
 
 At things thet don't fetch you a nickle o' pay. 
 
 There's lots o' hard sweatin' fer all thet you git 
 An' sometimes you sweat without gittin' a bit. 
 
HEZEKIAH HAYFIELD, JR. 93 
 
 These folks thet think farmers live on the top 
 
 shelves, 
 The most of 'em never tried farmin' themselves. 
 
 In thinkin' the country lots nicer than town, 
 They hev my opinions jest turned upside down. 
 
 In town you ain't tied to yer stock an' yer grain. 
 You never hev hay layin' out in the rain. 
 
 You sit in yer office er stand in yer store, 
 Jest watchin' the money roll in at the door. 
 
 They fetch you yer mail an' bring 'round what 
 
 you buy. 
 They sprinkle the streets when the dust tries to fly. 
 
 An' ef yer front yard gits to pantin' fer rain 
 You open the gear to a big water main. 
 
 There's somethin' to go to about every night. 
 They out-shine the moon with their 'lectrical 
 light. 
 
 It ain't very fer from yer house to the stores 
 Where they hist people up on them elevators. 
 
94 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 An' ef you ain't nothin' to do fer awhile 
 But talk to some feller off two er three mile, 
 
 You jest turn a crank thet is hitched to a bell 
 An' ring up the feller an' 'phone him a spell. 
 
 Last week they was tellin' at old Peter Jones' 
 Thet they can see folks through them town tele- 
 phones. 
 
 And somebody said thet they think pretty soon 
 They'll talk to the man thet is runnin' the moon. 
 
 Now out in the country you don't see such things; 
 You jest hear about 'em and wish you hed wings. 
 
 But people in town hev 'em always close by, 
 An' livin' is jest like the Fourth o' July. 
 
 So I hev concluded from all I can see 
 Thet life in th-e city is jest right fer me. 
 
PUNKIN PIE. 
 
 Say, Billie, when yer startin' off a-nuttin' with yer 
 
 sack, 
 An' know yer goin' to git to feelin' holler 'fore 
 
 yer back, 
 An' see yer mother puttin' up a lunch fer by 
 
 an' by, 
 Why is it nothin' strikes you like the hunk 
 
 o' punkin pie ? 
 
 An' while yer huntin' fer the nuts, er somethin' 
 
 you hev lost, 
 An' wishin' all the skeeters had got froze up with 
 
 the frost, 
 It's funny how the crickets an' the birds an' 
 
 squirrels try 
 To chirp an' sing an' chatter all the time 'bout 
 
 punkin pie. 
 
96 SELECT SUNFLOWERS 
 
 An' when you git to eatin', if you do the way you 
 
 should, 
 An' tackle bread an' butter first and things that 
 
 ain't so good, 
 What makes you jest ez hungry yit, an' pretty near 
 
 ez dry 
 Until you git to workin' on yer piece o' punkin pie? 
 
 An' when yer done with dinner an' yer punkin 
 
 pie's all et, 
 An' you can't help a-wishin' that you hadn't 
 
 started yet ; 
 O, ain't it nice to lick yer lips to scare away a fly, 
 An' find a lot remainin' from that piece o' punkin 
 
 pie. 
 
 Say, Billie, I've been thinkin' when I git to be a 
 
 man, 
 I'll hev 'bout forty acres jest fer punkins ef I can. 
 An' maybe I'll git married, but the girl thet takes 
 
 my eye 
 Must be a bird at bakin' when it comes to punkin 
 
 pie. 
 
THE COWBOY POET. 
 
 Sharp Shooter Jim, a cowboy, roamed the wild 
 
 romantic west ; 
 Roughest of all his fellows and by far intrepidest. 
 
 Yet through his reckless nature ran a weird, poetic 
 
 strain, 
 Which turned his thoughts to music as he galloped 
 
 o'er the plain. 
 
 Of western rhyme and rhythm he devoured every- 
 thing, 
 
 But often cried: " I'll bet you I can beat it all, 
 by jing ? " 
 
 At last he took the lyre and essayed himself to 
 
 write, 
 Although his maiden efforts for a time were "out 
 
 of sight." 
 
98 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 But when at last discovered he was forced to own 
 
 their coin, 
 To let the others read them, and, in fact, himself 
 
 to join 
 
 In their first presentation, for the fellow could 
 
 recite 
 Or thought he could, and often he would "elo- 
 
 cute " at night. 
 
 He loved to spout from Riley, Field, Sam Foss 
 
 or Eugene Ware ; 
 And often for a gesture shot his pistol in the air. 
 
 And now his new departure fired up the broncho 
 
 seer, 
 Who said: "Jest give him rope, an' he'll out — 
 
 Shakespeare old Shakespeare." 
 
 One rancher smoked in silence, but threw out the 
 
 modest hint 
 That Jim would be grey-headed, e'er he saw his 
 
 rhymes in print. 
 
THE COWBOY POET. 99 
 
 This nettled his admirers and they urged him to 
 
 submit 
 His verses to some paper — they were sure to make 
 
 a hit. 
 
 A little town was starting off some twenty miles 
 or more, 
 
 Which had a one-horse weekly run above a one- 
 horse store. 
 
 The editor one morning at his desk — a dry goods 
 
 box — 
 Sat sorting squibs of humor to be headed, "Kicks 
 
 and Knocks," 
 
 When in there came a cowboy looking diffident 
 
 and shy, 
 As though almost persuaded that he'd better turn 
 
 and fly. 
 
 "Good morning," said this Greeley — there was 
 
 business in his tones — 
 
 "You want a year's subscription to ' The Texas 
 
 Skull and Bones?' " 
 L.ofC. 
 
IOO SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 "Not that, exactly," Jim replied; — he spat, and 
 
 gave a squint ; — 
 " I fetched some poetry along I'd like you fer to 
 
 print." 
 
 ''We seldom publish doggerel; beside, Sir, if we 
 
 should 
 We'd get the stuff from writers who are recog- 
 nized as good. 
 
 But if you'll leave your copy here and call next 
 
 week again, 
 I'll probably have time to talk about it with you 
 
 then." 
 
 From underneath his pistol belt Jim drew a crum- 
 pled sheet,! 
 
 With four unmated stanzas set to fitful rhymes 
 and feet. 
 
 The editor reviewed them with a chafed and hur- 
 ried glance, 
 
 And then returned them. They had been rejected 
 in advance. 
 
THE COWBOY POET. 10 1 
 
 "We don't want stuff like that," declared the 
 
 pusher of the pen. 
 "Why not?" growled Jim. "Because, Sir, it's 
 
 not poetry, and then 
 
 " We're after news, not non-sense. Kindly call 
 
 again, good day." 
 But Jim had no intention of vacating just that 
 
 way. 
 
 His shyness now was anger, and his look was 
 
 fierce and grim ; 
 No white-shirt tenderfoot could make a laughing 
 
 stock of him. 
 
 He took the slighted copy tingling with the rage 
 
 he felt, 
 And pulled a seven shooter from his heavy pistol 
 
 belt. 
 
 He aimed the weapon, cocked, at his iusulter fair 
 
 and square; 
 "Now tell me this ain't poetry," he shouted, "if 
 
 you dare!" 
 
102 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 "Don't shoot! We'll run your verses!" in alarm 
 his critic cried. 
 
 "But be they poetry?" yelled Jim. The editor re- 
 plied, 
 
 "You betithey are; they're forcible, impressive, 
 
 and indeed, 
 We're short on copy and I think they're just the 
 
 thing we need." 
 
 Jim showed his thanks as usual with his faultless 
 
 pistol shot. 
 He sent a score of bullets through the ceiling in 
 
 one spot. 
 
 The printer took his copy and within an hour's 
 
 time, 
 They had the proof corrected on that rustic ranger 
 
 rhyme. 
 
 Jim's lines appeared next morning and behold 
 
 above his name, 
 A glowing introduction to the starry fields of fame. 
 
THE COWBOY POET. 103 
 
 Some larger paper saw it, and inquired if now and 
 then 
 
 They might receive a poem from so bright a West- 
 ern pen. 
 
 To-day he might be numbered with the rhymers of 
 
 renown, 
 Had not a rival ranchman deemed it best to shoot 
 
 him down. 
 
 But his example lingers and the way that he be- 
 gun 
 
 Leaves room for vast conjecture as to what he 
 might have done. 
 
 In life's uncertain contest brass helps many men 
 
 ahead, 
 But when it comes to poets nothing takes the place 
 
 of lead. 
 
THE SOD HOUSE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 Well, yes, it's sometimes pretty lonesome here, 
 And mostly 'long about this time o' year 
 
 When harvestin' is done. 
 
 An' hayin' hez begun, 
 An' early corn is hard'nin' in the ear. 
 
 You'd like to hev me tell you 'bout my past, 
 An' why I'm all alone here at the last, 
 
 So weak an' shaky-like? 
 
 Why, yes, I'll tell you, Ike; 
 It's mighty good of you to stop an' ast. 
 
 It's twenty year since me an' Liza came 
 An' settled down here on this timber claim; 
 
 The land was wild an' new, 
 
 An' neighbors they was few, 
 An' all around here was a lot o' game. 
 
THE SOD HOUSE IN HEAVEN. IO5 
 
 I don't believe there ever was a king, 
 Thet felt ez big ez I did 'long the spring 
 
 Thet this sod house was done, 
 
 An' Liza hed begun 
 To fix it up with things she'd thought to bring. 
 
 O 1 course we made a pretty modest start, 
 Fer wealth an' us was awful fer apart 
 
 But still we didn't mind, 
 
 Ef we was some behind , 
 The latest styles fer we was rich at heart. 
 
 There's allers lots o' work when you begin 
 To make a farm where grass hez allers been; 
 
 But everything was bright 
 
 With sort o' rainbow light, 
 So I pulled off my coat an' waded in. 
 
 One day a chap that couldn't spell ner add 
 Came round to see what sort o' board we had. 
 
 I see he'd come to stay, 
 
 An' wouldn't go away, 
 Fer Liza was his Ma an' me his Dad. 
 
lo6 SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 I never see so pert a chap ez him, 
 
 It looked like he was loaded to the brim; 
 
 An' allers in fer fun, 
 
 'Fore he could talk er run, 
 An' so we called him Little Frisky Jim. 
 
 An' when his mother made him his first pants, 
 You ort to seen that little feller prance; 
 
 I half believed the child 
 
 Was really goin' wild, 
 The way he'd run around an' jump an' dance. 
 
 One day the wind got on a sort o' swirl, 
 An' fetched around to us a little girl; 
 
 We thought we never see 
 
 Ez sweet a thing ez she, 
 An' so we called her Little Sugar Pearl. 
 
 Well, neighbor, them two little ones so bright, 
 They jest filled this sod house plum full o' light. 
 
 I mended up their toys, 
 
 An' helped 'em with their noise, 
 An' used to hear 'em say their prayers at night. 
 
THE SOD HOUSE IN HEAVEN. 107 
 
 An' Liza every special pleasant day 
 
 Would send 'em out around the place to play. 
 
 I allers liked to see 
 
 'Em come to bother me 
 An' ast me things an' git round in the way. 
 
 On rainy days they hed to stay inside; 
 But ef I hung around they never cried, 
 
 But said, "please Daddy please 
 
 Git on yer hands an' knees." 
 An' so I'd be a horse, an' they would ride. 
 
 An' that's the way things went about five year; 
 We reckoned Heaven must be somewheres near. 
 
 Don't b'lieve the whole o' space 
 
 Could show a happier place 
 Than this sod house when all of us was here. 
 
 I somehow kind o' thought 'twould allers be 
 The same sunshiney place fer them an' me 
 
 Till, sudden like one day, 
 
 Jim run away to play 
 Up yonder, jest beyond where we could see. 
 
IOS SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Poor little Pearl! She wasn't much past four, 
 But still she grieved fer Jim ez much er more 
 
 Than Liza did er me, 
 
 An' it was hard to see 
 Her droopin'-like a-sittin' round the door. 
 
 An' by an' by, one still an' starry night, 
 
 Her face so pale got more than common bright: 
 
 An' raisin' up in bed, 
 
 "Oh, Jim!" she softly said, 
 An' then she follered to the Land o' Light. 
 
 An' there was Liza now an' me, heart-sore, 
 Jest left again the way we was before 
 
 Them little ones hed come 
 
 To brighten up our home, 
 Exceptin' thet we loved each other more. 
 
 It seemed to me thet Liza was my share, 
 Ef part o' them I loved I hed to spare; 
 
 But jest fer Pearl an' Jim 
 
 God called her up to Him; 
 An' maybe .she was needed over there. 
 
THE SOD HOUSE IN HEAVEN. 109 
 
 But after she was gone I couldn't see 
 
 Ez it was much odds how things went with me; 
 
 An' so year after year, 
 
 I've jest been stayin' here, 
 Half way betwixt what's been an' what's to be. 
 
 An' ever since the first o' this sick spell, 
 I've half been hopin' thet I'd not git well. 
 
 I don't keer much to stay 
 
 With them all gone away, 
 The place is lonesomer than I can tell. 
 
 Yes, thank you, Ike, I b'lieve I'd like a drink; 
 I ain't no worse, jest kind o' weak I think. 
 
 How bright 'tis everywhere! 
 
 What is it in the air? 
 Why, Ike, it's flowers, blue an' white an' pink. 
 
 Jest listen! Can't you hear 'em sing somewhere? 
 An' see that shinin' river over there! 
 
 An' near the glittering sands 
 
 A great big city stands; 
 An' there's a flock of angels in the air. 
 
/ 
 
 IIO SELECT SUNFLOWERS. 
 
 Outside the place a piece yet middlin' nigh 
 I see a little sod house, 'bout ez high, 
 
 Ez this, but lots more trim; 
 
 There's Liza, Pearl an' Jim 
 A-beck'nin' me to come, — : Dear Ike, good- by 
 
Select Sunflowers 
 
 BY 
 
 HARRY EDWARD MILLS 
 
 PRICE, ONE DOLLAR 
 
 THE SUNFLOWER PRESS 
 
 FORT SCOTT, KANS. 
 
NOV e 1901 
 
OCT 15 1901