PS :«: •■v\-:: ■,. ■ 
 
 iZHi ' ' — 
 
 anb(!^tl&et Merges 
 IBpeflitftcriWarp Clark 
 
Class '.r:^ dS'C 5" 
 
 Rnnk X.9.^ C3 
 rmiATiglrfN" \qiQ 
 
 COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 
 
 .A2683o4 
 
c 
 
 
tEf)e CaU of ^angas 
 anb 0t'f)tx "^ersieg 
 ?Bp Csitfjer ilarp Clarfe 
 
tEfje Call of Wimxaan 
 
 Surfeited here with beauty, and the 
 
 sensuous-sweet perfume 
 Borne in from a thousand gardens and 
 
 orchards of orange bloom: 
 Aw^ed by the silent mountains, stunned by 
 
 the breakers' roar — 
 The restless ocean pounding and tugging 
 
 away at the shore — 
 I lie on the w^arm sand beach and hear, 
 
 above the cry of the sea, 
 The voice of the prairie, calling, calling me. 
 
 Sweeter to me than the salt sea spray, the 
 
 fragrance of summer rains: 
 Nearer my heart than these mighty hills are 
 
 the w^indswept Kansas plains : 
 Dearer the sight of a shy, w^ild rose by the 
 
 roadside's dusty way 
 Than all the splendor of poppy-fields, 
 
 ablaze in the sun of May. 
 Gay as the bold poinsettia is, and the 
 
 burden of pepper trees, 
 The sunflower, tawny and g-^ilcj and brown, 
 
 is richer to me, than thesp'' 
 
Cfje Call of llan{(a£"Contmueb 
 
 And rising ever above the song of the 
 
 hoarse, insistent sea. 
 The voice of the prairie, calUng, calling me. 
 
 Kansas, beloved Mother, today in an aHen 
 
 land. 
 Yours is the name I have idly traced with 
 
 a bit of v/ood in the sand : 
 The name that, flung from a scornful lip. 
 
 will make the hot blood start : 
 The name that is graven, hard and deep, 
 
 on the core of my loyal heart. 
 O higher, clearer and stronger yet, than the 
 
 boom of the savage sea. 
 The voice of the prairie, calling, calling me. 
 
^f)e inan Mti)i\\b tfje ^un 
 
 There are many to sing of the noble deeds 
 
 of Kansas' favorite sons: 
 The men who stood in the early days so 
 
 manfully by their guns. 
 Who shed their blood at the Nation's call 
 
 for the martyr-state's release, 
 And led her out of the depths of war and 
 
 into the w^ays of peace. 
 1 honor them all ; but I honor, too, the 
 
 Infinite Wisdom's plan 
 Of putting a man behind the gun, and a 
 
 woman behind the man! 
 The men of the days of Old John Brown--- 
 
 Lord love them, every one ! — 
 Each is a hero in Kansas' eyes, and each 
 
 is a favorite son. 
 But I venture to say that you'd find if you got 
 
 right down to the truth of things 
 They were mostly held to their duty's post 
 
 by a couple of apron strings ! 
 For w^ho could waver, or who could fail in 
 
 that struggle in Freedom's name 
 When woman's courage and woman's faith 
 
 were backing him in the game? 
 
5 Ci)t jHan jBeftinb tf)e @un-Conttnncb_ 
 
 Our dear fore-mothers ! who Uved and loved 
 
 in the days when the State was young. 
 (And many have gone to their last long rest, 
 
 unhonored, unknown, unsung) 
 For Woman rose to the needs of the hour 
 
 when the dear-bought peace was won. 
 And backed up the man at the plough as 
 
 well as she'd backed up the man at 
 the gun ! 
 He gave his strength for the land's increase, 
 
 his voice to the new State's good. 
 But back of his every word and deed some 
 
 valiant woman stood. 
 
 There are men at the front in our State 
 
 today, and back of each one stands 
 Some dauntless woman with loving heart 
 
 and ready and willing hands. 
 I do not ask for her, Equal Rights, nor a 
 
 voice at your polls as yet, 
 ( For Heaven knows 1 am anything but a 
 
 rampant suffragette ! ) 
 But give her a place in your Halls of Fame, 
 
 along with your honored ones ; 
 
Cf)e i¥lan |@efiinti t^e #unHConttnueD 
 
 Let Kansas' favorite daughters rank as high 
 
 as her favorite sons. 
 I pledge you loyally, heart and hand, as 
 
 only a Kansan can. 
 A toast: 
 
 To the Man who is at the front — - and 
 the Woman behind the Man! 
 
?Ef)e iHotfjcr 
 
 Dear Lord, there is so much to do in one 
 
 brief, busy day: 
 The little clothes to wash and iron, and 
 
 mend and put away ; 
 The littered toys to gather up, the little beds 
 
 to make; 
 And little griefs to soothe away from little 
 
 hearts that ache. 
 The little bodies to be kept, for Thy sake, 
 
 clean and sweet. 
 As temples for the dwelling of the Christly 
 
 spirit meet. 
 And Mary Mother one time knew the 
 
 blessedness of this : 
 The little feet to wash at night, the little 
 
 lips to kiss. 
 
 Forgive me, Lord, if that I seem neglectful 
 
 of Thy work. 
 It is not that my heart is hard, it is not that 
 
 I shirk. 
 But that my heart and hands are full with 
 
 these, my little ones. 
 
)c ifllotfier-Continueb 
 
 My little daughters, fair and sweet, my 
 
 sturdy little sons. 
 Once I rejoiced in serving Thee, and only 
 
 Thee alway ; 
 And now sometimes I am so tired I cannot 
 
 even pray. 
 But I draw near at night to Him whose 
 
 mother knew the bliss 
 Of tender, little feet to wash, and little lips 
 
 to kiss. 
 
9 Mv 3©car 
 
 If I hadn't had you, my dear. 
 
 My Dear, 
 In the years that we've been together, 
 With your happy tongue and your jest 
 and song, 
 No matter how gray the weather; 
 If I hadn't had you when my hope was 
 low. 
 To comfort and tease and love me, 
 I'd have seen no green in the grass below. 
 
 No blue in the sky above me. 
 And the world had been empty and sad 
 
 and drear, 
 if i hadn't had you, my dear. 
 
 My Dear. 
 
 If 1 didn't have you, my dear, 
 
 My Dear, 
 With the glamour of youth about you. 
 When the day's work drags and my courage 
 
 flags, 
 Why, what should 1 do without you ? 
 If I didn't have you when the day is long 
 And the long, long night comes after; 
 
10 iflp Bear-Conttnueb 
 
 If I didn't have you when the world goes 
 wrong, 
 To set it aright with laughter, 
 There'd be small need of my tarrying here. 
 If I didn't have you, my dear, 
 
 My Dear. 
 
1 1 Jf orcfeobing 
 
 A wild rose by the wayside path. 
 
 Upheld her head in simple pride; 
 A passing wind, in sudden wrath, 
 
 Outflung her petals far and wide. 
 And, shuddering, I turned aside: 
 
 Is some dread Presence, then, so near ? 
 For through the stillness something cried : 
 
 "Tomorrow you may not be here!" 
 At dawn I heard a wild lark fling 
 
 His soul out in a single strain. 
 As if his gladness in the Spring 
 
 His little heart could not restrain. 
 Now, on the grass a crimson stain— 
 
 The song hath cost the singer dear--- 
 
 And in my heart the old refrain: 
 
 "Tomorrow^, you may not be here!" 
 * * * 
 
 Forgive me if I cannot speak 
 Of matters trivial and light; 
 
 For O, my heart and lips are weak. 
 And I am filled with strange affright: 
 
 Dear, if I read the sign aright. 
 
 There is some reason for the fear; 
 
 So fold me, hold me close tonight- 
 Tomorrow 1 may not be here. 
 
12 Conquering 
 
 This, that my hand must never touch ; 
 
 This, that my eyes must never see ; 
 This, that my heart has craved so much ; 
 
 This, that was never meant for me ; 
 I will not say, that the world may hear: 
 
 "I have not longed for it, no, not I!" 
 I will say: " Though lovely and fair and dear, 
 
 It is mine to conquer, and put it by." 
 
 Now, mine the sacrifice, mine the pain. 
 
 And the bitterness, till the struggle cease. 
 Then, mine the glory and mine the gain. 
 
 And mine the triumph, and mine the 
 peace. 
 O hand, be steady! O heart, be strong! 
 
 * Tis not for this we shall faint and die ! 
 Though tempted sorely, and tempted long. 
 
 It is ours to conquer, and put it by. 
 ****** 
 
 "But what of thy dearest?" saith One 
 to me, 
 (In the Time to be, when the years are 
 done) 
 
13 Conquering-ContinueJ) 
 
 "The earth-thing, dearly beloved of thee--- 
 Thy heart's one treasure— or hath it 
 one ?'* 
 O white the lips that have kissed the rod. 
 But strong the heart that shall make 
 reply : 
 *' I am what I am by the grace of God 
 And the strength that conquered, and 
 put it by." 
 
14 tETIjc Clober anb tfje ^bp 
 
 O blest is he whose sorrow 
 
 Hath lasted but a night! 
 Thrice blest he whose tomorrow 
 
 Daw^ns ever fair and bright! 
 Yet who, the wide world over. 
 
 Could choose to sit and sigh? 
 With underneath, the clover. 
 
 And overhead, the sky. 
 Then make no friends with trouble, 
 
 And have no peace with gloom ; 
 For surely Joy is double 
 
 When all the Earth's a-bloom! 
 Look up! There bends above you 
 
 The tender, shelt'ring sky. 
 Look down! And there, to love you, 
 
 The clover, sweet and shy. 
 Last night the w^ind fell sobbing 
 
 Against my w^indow pane. 
 And like my heart's dull throbbing 
 
 There beat the mournful rain. 
 But now the storm is over 
 
 There's none so blithe as I, 
 With underneath, the clover. 
 
 And overhead, the sky. 
 
15 Mv VsAtnXim 
 
 When I was just a tiny, blue ginghamed. 
 
 pig-tailed miss 
 My young affections centered on such a 
 
 day as This. 
 I fed my soul on flowery verse and valen- 
 
 tine-y frills. 
 And bandy-legged Cupids gave me most 
 
 delightful thrills. 
 But I've outgrown such childishness— no 
 
 frills and thrills in mine! 
 1 want a million dollars to be my Valentine. 
 For these were fleeting fancies, and with 
 
 my tender teens 
 My tastes grew more expensive, though I 
 
 kept within my means. 
 1 still was keen on frills and thrills, but with 
 
 my lengthened frocks 
 1 wanted the hand-painted kind, all done 
 
 up in a box. 
 But even for these dear delights to-day I 
 
 do not pine: 
 1 want a million dollars to be my Valentine. 
 
 And in my early twenties I, yet mindful of 
 the day. 
 
16 Mv Valtntim '€ontinuttt 
 
 Demanded tokens in a still more merce- 
 
 nary way. 
 A five-pound box of chocolates would 
 
 really give me thrills. 
 Or Beauties at a dollar per, in florist's 
 
 paper frills. 
 But these no longer stir my blood to 
 
 ecstasy divine : 
 1 want a million dollars to be my Valentine. 
 
 Romance is dead in me to-day, and I am 
 thirty-three. 
 
 No loves and doves, no hearts and darts, 
 no lacy frills for me! 
 
 No five-pound box of chocolates, no roses 
 rare and red— 
 
 What little heart I had has formed a mer- 
 ger with my head. 
 
 The only thing 1 think of that would thrill 
 me through and through 
 
 And satisfy my yearnings is— a copper- 
 mine or two. 
 
 O Postman, bring a railroad, or a trans- 
 Atlantic line. 
 
 Or just a million dollars to be my Valentine ! 
 
Copyrighted 1910 by Esther Mary Clark ; printed 
 and published by Chas. C. Seewir at The 
 Windmill Press, in Lawrence. Kansas. 
 
1..I 16 ^9^«> 
 
One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
 lUl IS ISM 
 
■li