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 KANSAS POEMS 
 
 BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 HARRIS, KANSAS 
 
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EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
PREFACE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR 
 
 I have been requested to publish my poems in 
 pamphlet form, and hope they will offend no one. 
 Some of the poems deal with life as it is, and others 
 with life as it ought to be. 
 
 "Pocapella's Warning" is a true story. It was related 
 to me by the Indian agent who warned Pocapella that 
 the Blackfeet would steal his squaws and ponies if he 
 would go to the mountain on a hunting expedition. 
 The poem shows the truth of the old adage, "They who 
 will not be counselled cannot be saved." 
 
 "A Chinese Tale" was partly founded on fact. It 
 was written to make clear the fact that an All- Wise 
 Judge will never change his judgment. 
 
 "A Southern Romance" has a useful moral for the 
 white as well as^for the colored, and was not written 
 as a "slam" at the colored race. The poem on "The 
 Dual Life" was intended for the white more than the 
 colored race. 
 
 Edward Thomas Fay, 
 
 Harris, Kansas. 
 
 
 U'-f'^yL.^C^ 
 
 X/ 
 
JAN 3 1914 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 A Black Eye .... Page 41 
 
 A Cheerful Face - - - - Page 5 
 
 A Cheerful Liar - . - - Page 37 
 
 A Chinese Tale - - - - Page 13 
 
 A Fable With a Moral - - - Page 43 
 
 An Irish Fairy Tale _ . . Page 46 
 
 Back to Harris - - - - Page 41 
 
 Bright Things .... Page 20 
 
 Choose a Clean Friend ... Page 51 
 
 Circumstance .... Page 26 
 
 Denver . - . . . Page 54 
 
 Don't Worry .... Page 39 
 
 For Love of Home ... Page 9 
 
 Had a Right To - - • - ' - Page 31 
 
 If He Had His V/ay - - ' - Page 34 
 
 In Redlands, California ... Page 36 
 
 Kansas ..... Page 18 
 
 Life ..... Page 15 
 
 Life's March .... Page 53 
 
 Miser and Thief - - - - Page 22 
 
 Muskogee Red's Horoscope: A Dream - Page 48 
 
 My Kansas Home - - - - Page 55 
 
 Paternal Advice . - . . Page 21 
 
 Peace _ - . . . Page 7 
 
 Pocapella's Warning - - - Page 27 
 
 Remembrance .... .Page 10 
 
 Retrospective . _ . . Page 56 
 
 Rolio and Bolio - - - - Page 16 
 
 Shakspeare - - - - Page 53 
 
Spring - - - - ■ Page 29 
 
 Spring Thoughts - - - - Page 55 
 
 The Bridge of Elsirat — Mohamed's Belief Page 33 
 
 The Call of Kansas - - - Page 25 
 
 The Contest - - - - Page 40 
 
 The Double Life - - - - Page 32 
 
 The Master's Dream - - - Page 28 
 
 Two Christian Soldiers - - - Page 11 
 
 Westward Bound - - - - Page 35 
 
 When the Leaves Come Tumbling Down Page 6 
 
 Whiskey Did It All ... Page 8 
 
 You are Doggone Tootin' - - - Page 30 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 A CHEERFUL FACE 
 
 There is something in a cheerful face 
 That is music and balm and song; 
 
 That scatters sunshine wherever it goes 
 As it moves through the world along. 
 
 A cheerful face is a banquet spread; 
 
 It is hope and joy and rest. 
 Of all good things we may possess, 
 
 A cheerful face is the best. 
 
 Go on your way with a cheerful smile, 
 And harbor no gloom within. 
 
 This world has no use for a gloomy face; 
 It's a burden that weighs like sin. 
 
 A smile is the open sesame still, 
 
 With magic power as of old; 
 It unlocks the store of human love 
 
 That is proof to the key of gold. 
 
 A smile will sweeten life's bitterest cup. 
 
 How we love our cheerful friend 
 Who points the future with rosy tints, 
 
 And has rainbow hues to lend. 
 
 Smiles brighten the pathway of our lives; 
 
 They give us the chord and the key 
 To attune our souls to the music that 
 
 Rings through eternity. 
 
 [5] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 WHEN THE LEAVES COME TUMBLING DOWN 
 
 Down in the forest solitude , 
 
 Is where we like to go, 
 When yellow leaves begin tj fall, 
 
 When autumn breezes blow. 
 
 For one feels sort of lonesome 
 
 About the quiet town, 
 And hies away to woodland scenes 
 
 When the leaves come tumbling down. 
 
 The clouds in strange processions 
 
 Sweep across the sky; 
 The forest flecked with sun and shade 
 
 Is pleasing to the eye. 
 
 The sunbeams chase the shadows 
 
 O'er forest, field and town; 
 Old nature plays a lively game 
 
 When the leaves come tumbling down. 
 
 Down in the forest solitude 
 
 There is perfume in the air. 
 One might imagine seraphim 
 
 Had swung their censers there. 
 
 But do not look for seraphim — 
 
 Just keep spying round, 
 And you'll see the pawpaw's censers swing 
 
 When the leaves come tumbling down. 
 
 If they had been forbidden fruit 
 
 That luckless Adam ate, 
 I think forgiveness would have come 
 
 To Adam and his mate. 
 
 [6] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 I really think Jehovah 
 
 In anger would not frown 
 If he had caught them eating pawpaws 
 
 When the leaves come tumbling down. 
 
 There is no fruit more tempting 
 That is known to mortal man 
 
 Than a ripe delicious pawpaw. 
 Deny the fact, who can? 
 
 He says "Old friend I'll treat you," 
 When he is lying on the ground, 
 
 And he seems to rise and meet you 
 
 When the leaves come tumbling down. 
 
 PEACE 
 
 Along the crowded road of life 
 How noiselessly some tread. 
 They journey on, avoiding strife; 
 In peace they win their bread. 
 
 In peace life's phantom's they pursue; 
 As they are doing all should do. 
 
 The history of our warring race 
 Shows that the men of peace 
 Have occupied the highest place. 
 Long may their kind increase. 
 Their calm ideals are the best; 
 In peace humanity should rest; 
 
 [7] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Should cease from needless war and strife - 
 
 Should rise from darkness of the past 
 Into the light of higher life, 
 
 To be a peaceful race at last — 
 
 A race whose hands will not be red, 
 But will bear the olive branch instead. 
 
 WHISKEY DID IT ALL 
 
 When they who loose the scourges, 
 Their vials of wrath outpour. 
 
 Than rum, the arch destroyer. 
 None e^'er ruined more. 
 
 With grim resolve, men oft have dared 
 To face the cannon's Ht^«th-; ^t-iSi-oX/*^ 
 
 To drive less evils from their homes 
 They did not shrink from death. 
 
 The woe and ruin rum has caused 
 
 No tongue can truly tell. 
 It has brought men to the scaffold 
 
 And to the prison cell. 
 
 And countless thousands have been slain 
 And fortunes have been sunk 
 
 By men devoid of reason 
 
 When they were beastly drunk. 
 
 Rum is a fell destroyer — 
 
 Humanity's worst foe. 
 It ruins hopes and ruins homes 
 
 And lays bright prospects low. 
 
 [8] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 There are thousands of good fellows 
 Who now are on the bum 
 
 Can lay the failure of their lives 
 To nothing else but rum. 
 
 One who committed suicide, 
 This was his last sad call: 
 
 "Go tell the boys to drink no more — 
 That whiskey did it all " 
 
 FOR LOVE OF HOME 
 
 The greatest sacrifice of men 
 
 Is that which soldiers give: 
 That others by their noble deaths 
 
 In happiness may live. 
 
 The story of the world is full 
 
 Of heroisms grand; 
 Of gallant deeds performed by men 
 
 Who loved their native land. 
 
 What nerved the immortal three hunrTed 
 With their living bodies to bar 
 
 The Persians' march on Sparta 
 In the direful Grecian war? 
 
 What upheld the heaven-given banner 
 Under which great Constantine, 
 
 Who, with his gallant soldiers, 
 
 Stayed the flood of Rome's decline? 
 
 [9] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 What bore in wondrous triumph 
 From the Ganges to the Tweed, 
 
 The glittering square of crimson silk, 
 With eagles, in the lead? 
 
 What was it fired the patriots' souls 
 Who fought at Bunker Hill? 
 
 What bore our flag through many a fray 
 And stands behind it still? 
 
 It is a sentiment, my friends 
 
 As old as is gray time, 
 And broader than the surging seas - 
 
 It rules in every clime. 
 
 It dwells in every human heart; 
 
 It lives in every zone. 
 It is the love of native land, 
 
 Because it holds our home. 
 
 REMEMBRANCE 
 
 Sometimes we meet our long-lost friends 
 
 And talk of bygone days; 
 Of old companions of our youth, 
 
 And all about their ways; 
 
 Of some who fell before the sweep 
 Of Time's remorseless blade. 
 
 And those who journey with us still 
 Toward the realm of shade. 
 
 We tell about the lives they led, 
 The deeds that they have done; 
 
 [10] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FA\ 
 
 Of bright dreams that have faded 
 Or victories they have won; 
 
 How some fought l.fe's battle bravely, 
 
 Returning blow for blow, 
 While some threw down their arms and fled, 
 
 Who feared to face the foe. 
 And some of them we have to praise, 
 
 And some of them we blame, 
 Just as they led a proper life 
 
 Or gloried in their shame. 
 
 How like a careful mariner 
 
 While sailing o'er life's sea. 
 Some use a compass and a chart 
 
 And far from danger flee; 
 
 While others blindly steer their craft 
 
 On charted rock or shoal. 
 And end the voyage of their lives 
 
 Far from the hoped-for goal. 
 
 TWO CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS 
 
 Iwo Christian soldiers o'er the sands 
 
 Before the angry Arabs fly. 
 They saw the steel flash in their hands; 
 
 They heard them shout "The dogs must die!' 
 Their chargers skimmed the desert sand 
 
 Like swallows through the evening sky ; 
 But swiftly rode that dark-faced band 
 
 Of angry Arabs foJowing nigh. 
 
 [11] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 It was a hard-contested race 
 For life on that dry desert place. 
 
 But now the palm groves rise in view. 
 Soon will the Christians' camp be near. 
 Will Jesus save us?" mused the two 
 Who rode in hope and fear. 
 But nearer flashed the gleaming steel 
 
 And louder rose the yell: 
 "We will strike them down for Allah's weal 
 Those infidels of hell!" 
 
 What power on earth could save them then 
 If captured by those wrathful men? 
 
 But lo, one Christian's horse fell dead; 
 
 His rider tumbled on the plain. 
 He was hurt— he scarce could raise his head. 
 
 His comrade heard his cry of pain. 
 He swiftly reined his charged in — 
 
 Leaped from the saddle with a bound, 
 And in an instant was with him, 
 
 His prostate comrade, on the ground. 
 "You shall not die alone," he said. 
 "Their gleaming steel I do not dread." 
 
 The Arab chieftain saw the deed. 
 
 Such deed he had never seen before. 
 He drew his rein and stayed his steed. 
 
 And thirsted for their blood no more. 
 Hear me," he said; "though wars have been 
 
 Since time unknown till I grew old. 
 No nobler deed was ever seen; 
 
 No heart so tried, so true and bold. 
 If such are sons of Christ," said he, 
 "Long may they live in liberty!" 
 
 [12] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 A CHINESE TALE 
 
 A merry wag, on mischief bent, 
 
 Straight to a Chinese garden went. 
 
 He was a good ventriloquist, 
 
 Who chance for sport had seldom missed. 
 
 He said, "Today I'll have some fun, 
 And make the wily heathen run." 
 
 Before a washee-shop he saw 
 
 A washee man with hungry maw, 
 
 Who bore a salmon in his hand, 
 
 And quick as thought the joke was planned. 
 
 The salmon said, in haughty tone, 
 
 "Quong Lee, to me all things are known." 
 
 "If you eat me," the salmon said, 
 
 "Before two hours you will be dead, 
 
 And be reincarnated in a mule 
 
 That the opposing tongue will rule." 
 
 Quong Lee, with terror in his eyes, 
 Gazed at the fish in dumb surprise. 
 
 'Twas more than he could understand; 
 
 The fish fell from his trembling hand. 
 His queue rose like a paper kite. 
 
 And soared above him in his fright, 
 He staggered like a drunken man, 
 
 Then gathered all his strength and ran. 
 
 Into the joss house quick he sped. 
 His queue still soaring o'er his head. 
 
 All nature's laws it did disdain, 
 And floated like an aeroplane. 
 
 [13] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Safe in the joss house on the hill, 
 He sought to win Budha's good will. 
 
 The wag close followed in his wake, 
 And with him did the salmon take. 
 
 He laid the salmon on the floor, 
 
 And hid behind the pondrous door 
 
 While Quong Lee poured his tale of fear 
 In mighty Budha's wooden ear, 
 While Budha's priest was standing near. 
 
 "Give me ten plunks," the old priest said, 
 "And I will push your case ahead. 
 
 In. Budha's court my prayers ne'er fail; 
 With Budha always I prevail " 
 
 The frightened Lee the ten plunks paid 
 Unto the man in robes arrayed. 
 
 Then Budha said, "That priest's a knave; 
 
 His prayers can neither damn nor save. 
 Great Budha's justice changes not 
 
 And purchased prayers are useless rot. 
 All things I know, I hear, I see. 
 
 And final judgment rests with me. 
 
 No cunning priest with all his skill 
 Can change the justice of my will," 
 
 The frightened priest stood trembling then, 
 As old Wing Boo came tottering in, 
 
 Great Budha's favor to implore, 
 As he had often done before. 
 
 Wing, in his time, was always kind 
 To help the poor and sick and blind; 
 
 And now himself was sick and poor. 
 And many hardships did endure. 
 
 [14] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 The wag the old man's need well knew, 
 And Budha spoke for good Wing Boo. 
 
 "Hi po ponya," * Budha cried; 
 
 "Wing Boo, you are my lo^'e and pride. 
 You always had a ready oar 
 
 To help the drowning to the shore. 
 Forever, with the tranquil blest, 
 
 In Budha's heaven shall be your rest. 
 Take home the fish from off this floor, 
 
 And heaven will send you many more." 
 
 Then to the priest Sky Bang he said, 
 "See that my hungry shall be fed, 
 
 Give a hundred plunks to old Wing Boo, 
 Or I will make a mule of you." 
 
 The frightened priest the money paid, 
 And Budha's anger was allayed. 
 
 Wing Boo then tottered home content 
 That Budha's aid to him had sent. 
 
 The cunning wag the fact well knew 
 That men great Budha's work can do; 
 
 That temples oft are dens of thieves 
 
 Whose high priests steal by make-believes. 
 
 Hi po ponya is "Hello, good friend," in Chinese. 
 
 LIFE 
 
 Life is like the game of horseshoes — 
 There is something at which we aim; 
 
 And good or bad partners we may choose 
 To help us win the game; 
 
 [15] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 And human hopes will rise and sink 
 
 Like the horseshoes rise and fall. 
 When the bitter or sweet from life's cup we drink, 
 
 There is bitter and sweet for all. 
 
 Horseshoes is surely a game of skill, 
 
 But chance sometimes steps in 
 And changes the game, as oft it will, 
 
 And the poorest players win. 
 Sometimes our "ringers" get knocked out, 
 
 When we feel dead sure they will stay; 
 In all, the affairs of life, no doubt, 
 
 Chance acts in the selfsame way. 
 
 Events sometimes rush out of the dark 
 
 That shape the fates of men; 
 We may aim with care and miss life's mark 
 
 Or a random shot may win. 
 Some are "leaners" in the game of life. 
 
 And some are "skunked" outright. 
 Perhaps the "failers" are not to blame 
 
 If we but judged them right. 
 
 ROLIO AND BOLIO 
 
 Like drift wood on the sea of life 
 They drifted to our shore. 
 
 They drifted outward with the tide; 
 We will see them never more. 
 
 They came from Kansas City, 
 Beside the brown Missou, 
 
 [16] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 And abode awhile in Harris, 
 
 Where they found some work to do. 
 
 They drifted into town one day- 
 Unheralded they came— 
 
 And to make a stake for winter time 
 They played the shovel game. 
 
 Their iron shovels glistened 
 
 In the moon's pale light, 
 Where the iron horses slumbered 
 
 On their iron beds at night. 
 
 Said Rolio to Bolio, 
 
 "This work is far too hard." 
 Said Bolio to Rolio, 
 
 "It's right you are, old pard." 
 
 Said Rolio to Bolio, "This town 
 
 Is far too dry," 
 Said Bolio to Rolio, 
 
 "For the wet realms I sigh." 
 
 Said Rolio to Bolio, 
 
 "This town is far too small." 
 Said Bolio to Rolio, 
 
 "There is no free lunch at all." 
 
 Said Rolio to Bolio, 
 
 "I spurn their proffered gold. 
 I know of better business. 
 
 Where it's not so horrid cold." 
 
 "And furthmore," said Rolio, 
 
 "I know a thing. or two: 
 It's me for Kansas City, 
 
 In the kingdom of Missou." 
 
 [17] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Said Rolio to Bolio, 
 
 "Alas, old pard, good-bye; 
 
 And should we never meet on earth, 
 I'll meet you in the sky." 
 
 Said Bolio to Rolio, 
 
 "No future life I fear. 
 Old Nick could not inflict a worse 
 
 Thau I've experienced here. 
 
 "And should we meet on earth again. 
 
 Old Solomon we'll heed. 
 We'll eat, drink and be merry, 
 
 And smoke the Indian weed." 
 
 Said Rolio to Bolio, 
 
 "I'm going up the grade, 
 An if we never meet again, 
 
 This parting was well made." 
 
 KANSAS 
 
 Kansas, our home land, 
 
 How strange is thy story 
 Like Minerva, full-armed, 
 
 Into being you sprung. 
 Thy valor and justice 
 
 Have crowned Thee with glory, 
 And a halo of splendor 
 
 Around Thee has hung. 
 
 [18] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 The sword and the balance 
 
 Were left to thy keeping; 
 The spirit of justice 
 
 Awoke at thy call, 
 And millions arose 
 
 From their bondage and v/eeping 
 To swell the glad anthem: 
 
 There is freedom for all. 
 
 Kansas — our Kansas — 
 
 Thou leadest the nation; 
 Thy wisdom endureth, 
 
 Thy justice enthralls 
 Adversaries drank of thy pure inspiration 
 
 Till they offered the tribute 
 Of love in thy halls. 
 
 O what a bright, laughing 
 
 Fountain of treasure 
 Flows from thy bounteous soil. 
 
 Year after year, 
 Bountiful giver of wealth beyond measure, 
 
 Yet 'tis for thy virtues 
 We hold thee most dear. 
 
 In thy romance, lo^'^e, valor 
 
 And duty are blended; 
 Tragedy darkened 
 
 The hour of thy dawn. 
 They recked not of danger, 
 
 The sons who defended; 
 They shall live in thy story 
 
 While time journeys on. 
 
 [19] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 No more the plumed Sioux 
 
 Rushes fiercely to plunder; 
 His bow has been broken, 
 
 His valor was vain; 
 And the bison, whose hoof-beats 
 
 Re-echoed like thunder. 
 Have passed like a dream 
 
 From the green, sunny plain. 
 
 The white man has come 
 
 With his burden and scheming, 
 With restless ambition 
 
 That scorns every chain. 
 He has found sunny Kansas, 
 
 The land of his dreaming, 
 An Eden with verdure 
 
 And sunshine and rain. 
 
 BRIGHT THINGS 
 
 The brightest thing that nature made 
 From heaven and earth will soonest fade. 
 The rainbow made of seven-hued light. 
 The dew drop like a jewel bright. 
 The lightning's flash, the meteors' gleam 
 Will vanish like our sweetes dream. 
 There are bright things that never die — 
 Fond memories of the days gone by. 
 The love that was so pure and true, 
 Bright as the rainbow's glorious hue; 
 
 [20] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 The memories of deeds well done 
 G^ow with the splendor of the sun, 
 Nor time nor evil's power can doom 
 Bright joys that in the soul found room. 
 A life well spent, year after year, 
 Has joys that never disappear. 
 Where honor, peace and virtue dwell 
 Ail things are bright and ail is weil. 
 
 PATERNAL ADVICE 
 
 I have advice to give you, son, 
 
 Before I sail away, 
 But where my bark will anchor 
 . Is more than I can say. 
 I've heard there is a goodly port 
 
 Upon the other side, 
 And hope that into it, some day, 
 
 My bark will safely glide. 
 
 I've trod the path of rectitude; 
 
 I want you to do the same; 
 And never be a crooked man, 
 
 Who plays a crooked game. 
 And never let your mind become 
 
 A dark, forbidding den. 
 Where evil thoughts, like serpents. 
 
 Will coil their folds therein. 
 
 Beware of evil habits, 
 
 And never give them reigns; 
 
 [21] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Though weak as cobwebs they begin, 
 Th2y will bind you soon like chains. 
 
 You may struggle like a victim 
 Crushed in a python's fold; 
 
 As small your chances to escape 
 From habits strong and old. 
 
 The way of evil doers 
 
 Is a way of grief and shame; 
 Beset by slings and arrows, 
 
 Their life is a worthless game. 
 Their evil deeds pursue them 
 
 With swift, untiring tread. 
 And sit upon their coffin lids 
 
 At last, when they are dead. 
 
 He may be the village villain 
 
 Or wear a crown of gold. 
 And slay a hundred thousand men. 
 
 Like conquerers of old. 
 The hopes they base on evil deeds 
 
 Will vanish into naught; 
 False, luring hopes, like mirage lakes, 
 
 That thirsty travelers sought. 
 
 MISER AND THIEF 
 
 A long time ago, 
 
 In the years that have flown, 
 There was a rich miser 
 
 Who lived all alone. 
 
 [22] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 He toiled all the day 
 
 And he scarce slept by night, 
 And to add to his store 
 
 Was his only delight. 
 
 There was also a robber — 
 
 A wily old knave — 
 Who lived all in solitude 
 
 Safe in a cave. 
 This robber was treacherous, 
 
 Vicious and bold, 
 And schemed how to steat 
 
 The rich miser's red gold. 
 
 He dressed himself up 
 
 In the garments he stole 
 From a pious old monk, 
 
 And assumed the monk's role. 
 Then he sought the old mise r. 
 
 With tears in his eyes, 
 And told him a batch 
 
 Of tremendous lies. 
 
 "Thank heaven!" said the old thief, 
 
 "I've come here to you 
 To pray for your soul 
 
 And tell what you must do. 
 You must gi^'^e of the gold 
 
 You have horded away 
 To the halt and the lame 
 
 And the blind while you may: 
 
 "For if you do not. 
 
 You will go down below. 
 Where the, fires tormenting 
 
 [23] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Are always aglow; 
 Where the devils are torturing 
 
 Old misers' souls 
 And heaping around them 
 
 The red, flaming coals; 
 
 Where, forever and ever, 
 
 Their spirit will burn. 
 In the reigon from whence 
 
 There is no hope of return. 
 This miser all beggars 
 
 Did hate and despise, 
 And he planted his fist 
 
 Right betwixt his two eyes. 
 
 The miser was tough. 
 
 And the thief he was strong. 
 They battled like wild cats — 
 
 The fight lasted long; 
 And when it was ended. 
 
 Both of them lay dead. 
 And they needed not money. 
 
 But coffins, instead. 
 
 A wandering tramp found them 
 
 Steeped in their gore. 
 He took all their money. 
 
 And wished they had more. 
 And the earth circled on 
 
 Round the sun as before. 
 
 [24] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 THE CALL OF KANSAS 
 
 I have climbed California's mountains, 
 
 And, from their summits high, 
 Gazed at the distant mountain peaks, 
 
 And where the lowlands lie. 
 
 I have gazed ('own upon the valleys 
 
 On many a pleasing scene, 
 Where the lime and lemon groweth 
 
 And the groves are always green. 
 
 I have watched the ocean billows 
 Break v/ith thunder on the shore, 
 
 And caught the inspiration 
 Oi the music in their roar; 
 
 But the old familiar Kansas scenes 
 
 Still held more charms for me 
 Than the mountains' massive grandeur 
 
 Or the thunder oi the sea. 
 
 The beauties of the fairest scene 
 
 The heart will coldly spurn. 
 And like the homing pigeon, 
 ■ To the old scenes ever turn. 
 
 And the old familiar voices 
 
 Will ever call away 
 From where the green-robed mountains rise 
 
 Or where the billows play 
 
 Where the old familiar faces are 
 That give to lite a zest, 
 
 [25] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 There the dream of Jife is sweetest 
 And life is at its best 
 
 CIRCUMSTANCE 
 
 My name is Circumstance, and I 
 
 Still hold the reins on you. 
 In boundless space I work, I fly, 
 I have so much to do. 
 
 This busy world, in all its zones, 
 My never-ceasing power owns. 
 
 Ten thousand thousand years ago. 
 
 Still was I fresh and voung', 
 And bright new worlds, with fiery glow, 
 That in their orbits swung. 
 
 Obeyed me then, as still they do. 
 In all the boundless field of blue. 
 
 Each individual who exists — 
 
 Yes, ev'ry living sesnate thing 
 That in its kind on earth persists — 
 Proclaims that I am king. 
 
 I still produce, preserve, destroy. 
 And fill the world with grief or joy; 
 
 And e'en the tide in men's affairs, 
 
 Well taken at the gate 
 That bears them up Success's stairs, 
 Where for them triumphs wait — 
 All is the work of Circumstance. 
 Whose law and scepter sways all chance. 
 
 [26] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 POCAPELLA'S WARNING 
 
 "Stay. Pocapella!" the agent cried. 
 
 As he pointed to the high divide. 
 
 "In the hills the murderous Blackfeet ride 
 
 Who scorn all laws. 
 
 They will steal your ponies and steal your squaws, 
 
 As they have done with the braves who tried 
 
 To hunt for game on the mountain side. 
 
 Keep far away from the Blackfeet's claws." 
 
 ut Pocapella. with eagle eye. 
 Gazed far av/ay through Montana's sky 
 To where the mountains towered high, 
 And he said. ""I go 
 
 To hunt in the hills, and I fear no foe: 
 When my rifle speaks, the bear will die, 
 And Blackfeet before me will fall or fly. 
 And 111 pitch my tent where the pinunes grow." 
 
 With squaws and ponies and sabre bright. 
 
 And his rifle reflecting the morning light, 
 
 Pocapella passed out of sight 
 
 A splendid specimen of his race. 
 
 With eagle feathers in his hair. 
 
 And war paint on his coppery face 
 
 He cared not for problems of wrong or right. 
 
 And he scorned the Blackfeet and loved to fight, 
 
 And there was no danger he would not dare. 
 
 But. alas for Pocapella and all 
 Who heed not warning voices that call 
 When clouds of danger hang like a pall, 
 That keener visions than theirs can see. 
 
 [27] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 He pitched his tent where the pine trees grow, 
 And he hunted on peaks that were clad with snow. 
 But the Blackfeet were out on a jamboree, 
 And they stole his squaws and ponies and all, 
 And never again his squaws did he see. 
 
 Pocapella stood all alone 
 
 On a mountain peak on a granite stone, 
 
 And he knew what grief there is to be known 
 
 In this good old, bad old, world of ours. 
 
 That for some has sunshine and song and flowers, 
 
 While others' hopes are o^'^erthrown 
 
 By the working of fate's mysterious powers; 
 
 And he mused on friends and foes that had flown 
 
 Over the hills to a place unknown. 
 
 Footsore and weary, at last he came. 
 He had neither squaws or ponies or game. 
 He had never a word of praise or blame. 
 "What did you ride home on?" the agent said. 
 He spoke not, but pointed at the saber instead, 
 And he called for a ration of bread and meat. 
 He had gambled and lost, but he didn't feel beat. 
 There were plenty of other squaws to wed. 
 And ponies to steai from the wild Blackfeet. 
 
 THE MASTERS Di^E/VM 
 
 "Put up the sword," the master cried. 
 
 He healed the wound the sword had made. 
 
 The right to use it he denied. 
 
 And for a peaceful world he prayed, 
 
 [28] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Lo, peace on earth, good will to men — 
 This was the Master's earnest thought. 
 
 'Twill glorify his memory when 
 All ravening tyrants are forgot. 
 
 A tranquil world is what we need, 
 
 But war still rages as of old. 
 The Master's word men little heed, 
 
 And draw the sword for power and gold. 
 
 Sometime may dawn a golden age; 
 
 Sometime the Master's dream come true, 
 When men will learn to curb their rage. 
 
 And all find useful work to do. 
 
 SPRING 
 
 Sand cranes are circling in the sky, 
 
 And dragon-tongues are in bloom, 
 And noisy herons are soaring high, 
 
 Where there is plenty of room. 
 We know the winter is laid to rest 
 
 When the sand crane's cries we hear; 
 When Orion marches down the West, 
 
 With his great dog ever near. 
 
 'Tis the time when resurrection has come 
 
 To many a plant and flower, 
 And old friends shout who had been dumb 
 
 Through many a wintry hour. 
 The orchards are dressed in white and pink, 
 
 And the landscape is tinged with green, 
 
 [29] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 And the sand cranes circle around, I think, 
 Just to gaze once more on the scene. 
 
 The blackbird choir, ten thousand strong, 
 
 Are singing in the trees; 
 Our souls are thrilled by their matchless song 
 
 That floats away on the breeze. 
 From out of the depths the wild geese call 
 
 To their mates as they hurry by. 
 And the answering honk of each and all 
 
 Rings clear in the deep blue sky. 
 
 There is a mantle of white on the old plum trees 
 
 And the lilac is in bloom; 
 From the sunny South every balmy breeze 
 
 Is laden with perfume. 
 We know that winter is laid to rest 
 
 And rejoice that spring is here. 
 When Orion marches down the West 
 
 With his great dog ever near. 
 
 YOU ARE DOGGONE TOOTIN' 
 
 You are doggone tootin', 
 This world is a bully place 
 
 For a jolly, big-souled fellow 
 With sunshine in his face. 
 
 We feel his soul's contagion 
 
 When we shake his friendly hand, 
 
 And we'd rather hear his jolly jokes 
 Than listen to a band. 
 
 [30] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 The sunshine of his happy soul 
 
 Dispels the gloom around, 
 And you hear the people laughing 
 
 Wherever he is found. 
 
 It seems your cup of hapiness 
 
 He always tries to fill, 
 And when he lends a helping hand, 
 
 He does it with good will. 
 
 He never makes a harbor 
 
 Of his mind for gloom and spite, 
 
 And every one who knows him 
 Will tell you he's all right. 
 
 It's a pity such good fellows 
 
 Should ever have to die. 
 But wouldn't a heaven look lonesome 
 
 Without him, by and by? 
 
 You are doggone tootin' 
 
 We'd like to meet him where 
 
 There are no cranks and crookedness, 
 Or grief or gloom or care. 
 
 HAD A RIGHT TO 
 
 The radiant sun was sinking. 
 The day was almost done; 
 
 It was a pleasant evening 
 And a glorious golden sun. 
 
 The fields and trees were verdant. 
 The sky above serene; 
 
 [31] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 The sinking sun that evening 
 Shone brightly on the scene, 
 
 And poured its peerless splendor 
 
 On many a stately pine 
 That towered above the path where 
 
 I roved with lady mine. 
 
 Twas hand in hand and happy 
 We walked the pleasant way, 
 
 And caught the inspiration 
 Of that eventide in May. 
 
 Her calm ey^s, full of splendor, 
 Were members of her soul; 
 
 Bright orbs where love and wisdom 
 Showed passionate control. 
 
 I queried if she loved me. 
 
 She whispered in my ear 
 The richest sweetest answer 
 
 That mortal man can hear. 
 
 I kissed her. Do not wonder 
 
 At this incident of life? 
 In fact, I had a right to. 
 
 Because she was my wife. 
 
 THE DOUBLE LIFE 
 
 See you yon vulture soaring high? 
 How smooth he sails through yonder sky; 
 And, judging by his glorious flight. 
 One well might think his life was right; 
 
 [32] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 But when we see his pinions sink, 
 And watch him dine amidst the stink, 
 We envy not his glorious flight 
 Amidst the azure fields of light. 
 Alas for human frailty, we 
 The vulture type too often see. 
 Recording angel well might weep — 
 They soar so high and sink so deep. 
 Worse frailties in the human kind 
 Than in the vultures we can find. 
 Those whited sepulchres who lead 
 A double life on carrion feed — 
 How we would scorn them if we knew 
 The worse than vulture deeds they do. 
 From morn till night, from night till morn, 
 The pure all vulture feasts will scorn, 
 And in their flight for higher things 
 Will fail not like the vultures' wings. 
 
 THE BRIDGE OF ELSIRAT-MOHAMED'S BELIEF 
 
 The young and the old and the weak and the strong 
 
 To the bridge of Elsirat all journey along: 
 
 The rich and the poor and the good and the bad. 
 
 All who are happy and all who are sad. 
 
 The proud and the humble all go the same way 
 
 To the bridge of Elsirat, and no man can stay. 
 
 The wise and the foolish come to it at last. 
 
 Each bearing his record from out oi the past. 
 
 [33] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 *Tis a wonderful structure that Allah has made, 
 And the wicked to tread on this bridge are afraid. 
 The bridge of Elsirat will hold up no sin, 
 And the wicked fall through to a sulphurous den, 
 Where, forever and ever, their torments increase. 
 Without any hope of respite or release. 
 While they who are sinless pass over secure 
 To where Elysian pleasures forever endure. 
 The commandments of Allah the foolish despise, 
 But none may pass over his bridge but the wise. 
 
 IF HE HAD HIS WAY 
 
 A cloud of whiskers and tangled hair 
 
 And garments in need of much repair, 
 
 With old slouch hat and his ill-clad wife, 
 
 And many children, he goes through life. 
 
 He has no money to bale like hay. 
 
 But I know he would if he had his way. 
 
 If he had his way, he would be rich and grand; 
 
 His mansion the finest in the land; 
 
 Silk and satin his wife would wear, 
 
 And diamonds would glow in her golden hair. 
 
 He would have a yacht and a palace car. 
 
 And in quest of pleasure would travel far. 
 
 If he had his way, he would have fame. 
 
 And men would never forget his name; 
 
 The fountain of youth he would seek and find. 
 
 And the ills of life he would leave behind. 
 
 What shipwrecked hopes there may be found 
 
 Under an old slouch hat as it moves around. 
 
 [34] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 WESTWARD-BOUND 
 
 Ten thousand voices mingle 
 
 To swell the glad refrain. 
 We are bound for western Kansas, 
 
 For the tide has turned again. 
 We are bound for western Kansas, 
 
 Where the billowy wheat fields grow, 
 For nature in her happiest mood 
 
 Has gently whispered "Go!" 
 But nature's moods are changeful, 
 
 Just like the moods of men. 
 She smiles on western Kansas 
 
 And lures the grangers in. 
 But the yellow wind from Texas, 
 
 That rips the sunny plain 
 And buries wheat fields out of sight. 
 Drive people out again. 
 
 But some of sterner nature 
 
 Will hold the fort and stay. 
 Despite the roasting winds that blast 
 
 The corn fields in a day. 
 By men of sternest metal 
 
 All victories are won, 
 Through fire or flood or field of blood 
 
 Their watchword is "Press On!" 
 
 I have watched the prairie schooners 
 
 Sail slowly out of sight. 
 Which bore some restless heroes, 
 
 Brave as Lamancha's knight. 
 And wondered what the future 
 
 [35] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Of those pioneers would be 
 Who raise their standard in the West 
 And fight for victory. 
 
 IN REDLANDS, CALIFORNIA 
 
 In the beautiful city of Rediands 
 A strange population there dwells. 
 
 There are millionaires li^'ing in splendor 
 And hobos who march with the bells I — 
 
 Those lovers of freedom and leisure, 
 The hobos who march with the bells. 
 
 They come from all parts of creation, 
 
 Lead on to this haven of rest; 
 By some mystical strange inspiration 
 
 That seizes their brain an*' their breast, 
 And hurries them onward to Rediands. 
 
 Their mecca, their hope in the West — 
 Their dreamland, their haven, their rest. 
 
 And when they are safe in its harbor. 
 They cast all life's burdens aside; 
 
 They sing, they dance and they charla;* 
 On the crest of good fortune they ride. 
 
 In the land of the big yellow orange 
 
 Their fortune has reached its high tide-- 
 On the sunny slope reached its high tide. 
 
 But, like wandering comets, they vanish; 
 Their sojourn soon comes to an end, 
 
 [36] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 And you hear "Adiose combinaro!" t 
 
 When to go somewhere else they intend; 
 
 And they take up life's bells and its burdens, 
 An^ hasten away with the wind — 
 And their course, it will change with the wind. 
 
 X Bells are tin cans. 
 
 * Charla, Mexican for chat. 
 
 t "Adiose combinaro," Good-bye, partner. 
 
 A CHEERFUL LIAR 
 
 Say, do you know Bill Braggart? 
 
 Bill is a cheerful liar. 
 He walked right up Vesuvius 
 
 When it was belching fire. 
 He dives in deadly whirlpools 
 
 On the corner of the street. 
 And he scales the fiery mountain 
 
 Where the happy loafers meet. 
 
 And while the sun is sinking, 
 
 Slowly sinking in the west, 
 The loafers gather 'round to hear 
 
 His biggest and his best. 
 He will beg a chew of tobacco. 
 
 Then trouble will begin. 
 He whipped a heavy-weight champion 
 
 Before you could count ten. 
 
 Or he'd fought a tribe of Indians, 
 
 And put them all to flight; 
 He had sneaked into the enemy's camp 
 
 And spiked their guns at night. 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 He tells of winning victories, 
 
 But never of defeat. 
 He never lost a battle — 
 
 On the corner of the street. 
 
 He had crossed a raging river 
 
 When it was ten miles wide. 
 He rowed across it in a tub, 
 
 Safe to the other side. 
 'Twas one dark night he was scouting 
 
 For the grizzly grenadiers; 
 He paddled back in safety 
 
 And received a round of cheers. 
 
 From a cloud he saw the lightning dart 
 
 Straight at a little child. 
 Unconcious of the rushing bolt, 
 
 The little fellow smiled. 
 Bill quickly ran across the street, 
 
 Just as a brave man should. 
 And snatched the child to safety 
 
 Ere the bolt struck where he'd stood. 
 
 When he traveled with a circus, 
 
 He said he had a knack 
 Of turning double summersaults 
 
 With an anvil on his back. 
 He had won ten thousand dollars 
 
 On a foot race, long ago. 
 But a cyclone took his pocket book. 
 
 And now his funds are low. 
 
 He had smoked in a powder-mill, 
 Though it was against the rules. 
 
 He thought that powder-makers 
 Were a timid lot of fools. 
 
 [38] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 His cigar fell on the powder 
 
 And burned a bushel or two, 
 And before he tramped the fire out, 
 
 His boots were burned clean through. 
 When his wife comes charging down the street, 
 
 With fire in her eyes, 
 To retreat around the corner 
 
 Bill always deems it wise. 
 I think you know Billy Braggart. 
 
 He is living in your town. 
 He don't care when the sun gets up 
 
 Or when the sun goes down. 
 
 DON'T WORRY 
 
 Let us not grieve at fortune's frown; 
 
 Let us not waste our time with sighs. 
 When the Western stars go down. 
 
 Other stars will brightly rise. 
 
 When affairs with us go wrong, 
 
 What's the use to grieve and pine? 
 
 Dark clouds seldom linger long. 
 
 When they pass, the sun will shine. 
 
 From the cradle to the grave 
 
 There are trials, ups and downs. 
 
 Life is a battle, where the brave 
 Win the laurels and the crowns. 
 
 There is work for each and all. 
 Let us do it with a will. 
 
 [39] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 From the heights strong voices call. 
 Do not fear to climb the hill. 
 
 On through trials to the stars. 
 
 Doubt and worry cast aside. 
 With the courage of a Mars, 
 
 Forward to the battle ride. 
 
 THE CONTEST 
 
 The contest goes on as of ages of old 
 
 For love and for glory, for pleasure and gold. 
 
 The contest goes on, and hard battles are fought, 
 
 And the victories often too dearly are bought. 
 
 Strange dramas are played while the old planet spins, 
 
 And the world still hurrahs for the fellow that wins. 
 
 Of the fellow who loses the world will lose sight, 
 
 Though he gave his best effort to win the good fight. 
 
 Some capture the objects they earnestly chase, 
 
 While other are left far behind in the race. 
 
 Some follow a standard that is stainless and bright. 
 
 And swerve not their course to the left or the right. 
 
 They save their honor, will sacrifice all. 
 
 And follow serenely where duty will call. 
 
 All heroes are not found in battle's grim strife, 
 
 But some quietly walk in the byways of life. 
 
 To their fame and their glory no trumpet may sound, 
 
 Yet they make the world better wherever they're found. 
 
 [40] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 A BIG BLACK EYE 
 
 Before you lie about him 
 
 Or hit him in the face, 
 Just think if you were standing 
 
 In the other fellow's place, 
 How you'd like to bear the burden 
 
 Of your own disgusting lie. 
 Or walk around the village 
 
 With a big black eye. 
 
 There is not much glory in it 
 
 To be agile with your first. 
 And you will fall from honor's standard 
 
 When the honest truth you twist. 
 There are so many twisters 
 
 To make a fellow sigh. 
 To know they are giving honest truth 
 
 A big black eye. 
 
 We like an honest, manly man 
 
 Whose birthrights are unsold; 
 Who scorns to sell his honor 
 
 For ease or power or gold. 
 This world needs legions like him — 
 
 You know the reason why: 
 They will give to shams and falsehood 
 
 A big black eye. 
 
 BACK TO HARRIS 
 
 They hasten back to Harris 
 [41] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 From regions east and west; 
 Until they're found within its bounds, 
 Their souls can never rest. 
 
 They all come back to Harris 
 
 From regions far and near. 
 A happy lot that murmur not, 
 
 You'll find them gathered here. 
 
 They are wafted home by every breeze 
 
 From fairest foreign lands. 
 From sunny isles in Southern seas, 
 
 From Klondike's golden sands. 
 
 From where the stateliest palm groves rise. 
 
 From mountains like jungfru, 
 From regions with Italian skies, 
 
 And flowery kingdoms, too. 
 
 They dream about the good old town, 
 
 The woods, the rippling rills. 
 And where the golden sun goes down 
 
 Beneath the Oread hills. 
 
 They know that skies are brightest, 
 
 That fields are greenest here; 
 Time's footfalls here are lightest. 
 
 And celestial joys are near. 
 
 Kenoma's crystal waves are near, 
 
 And whales are captured every spring. 
 
 There Ryhard shines among his lines, 
 And every care takes wing. 
 
 The quiet, happy Harris life, 
 
 It has more joys by far 
 I am pleased to tell than ere befell 
 
 A war lord or a czar. 
 
 [42] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 A FABLE WITH A MORAL 
 
 On Hog-eyed Johnston's melon patch 
 
 The pale moon shone, 
 When hungry Honydaz arrived, 
 
 On foot and all alone. 
 
 He slashed the ripest melon 
 
 With his long, keen blade. 
 It ripped before his gleaming steel 
 
 As to himself he said: 
 "I's gwine to eat this mountain sweet 
 
 One mountain sweet alone." 
 The fact to Hog-eyed Johntson 
 
 It never will be known 
 
 When he ate that mountain sweet. 
 
 His good resolve had fled, 
 And if he had a conscience then, 
 
 Its still small voice was dead. 
 
 His honesty was shipwrecked 
 
 And cast upon the shore, 
 And he wished he had a sack to hold 
 
 A half a dozen more. 
 
 He said "I's sholy got no sack. 
 
 But this is what I'll do: 
 I's gwine to use my oberalls 
 
 And fill them with a few." 
 
 It was no sooner said than done. 
 
 The oberalls were filled. 
 In melon-swiping trickery 
 
 This Honydaz was skilled. 
 
 [43] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 On Honydaz's tater patch 
 
 There was a midnight raid, 
 And Hog-eyed Johnston, he was there, 
 
 Quite active with a spade. 
 
 This haughty Southern gentleman 
 Did high-grade morals lack. 
 
 And 'twas a strange coincidence — 
 He, too, forgot his sack. 
 
 But he, like neighbor Honydaz, 
 
 In shady deals was skilled. 
 And his oberall with taters 
 
 To their summit soon was filled. 
 
 With the loot astride their shoulders, 
 
 Each started for his home, 
 But they had to cross the cronfield. 
 
 Where the headless spook did roam. 
 
 They were powerful superstitious 
 'Bout the spirit of the dead, 
 
 And each mistook the other 
 
 For the spook who had no head. 
 
 They tore the earth up in their flight — 
 
 Each ran his level best, 
 And left the only overalls 
 
 That either one possessed. 
 
 And when their fright subsided. 
 It was some time nearly morn. 
 
 Each found the other's overalls 
 Lost in the field of corn. 
 
 And hog-eyed Johnston said, says he, 
 "Dem taters that I stole 
 
 [44] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Have been dun changed to nielins 
 By that spook— Lord bress my soul!" 
 
 And Honydaz nigh fainted 
 
 Beside his cabin door 
 When he untied the oberalls 
 
 And taters did outpour. 
 
 Hog-eyed Johnson was short and fat, 
 
 And Honydaz was tail, 
 When they tried on the oberalls. 
 
 It did their souls appal. 
 
 In the oberalls were letters 
 
 That shed a flood of light 
 Upon the kind of husky spooks 
 
 That hustled after night. 
 
 They were amorous espistles 
 
 From the belle of Murkeyville 
 That told each of those suitors, 
 
 "Sh'o, marry you I will." 
 
 When Honydaz had dug one up, 
 
 With bulging eyes he read: 
 "Dear Hog-eyed Johnston, 
 
 Light o' my life, de only man I'd wed." 
 
 And Honydaz's countenance fell. 
 
 And then his anger rose. 
 When he pursued the letter through 
 
 He found in Johnston's clothes. 
 
 When Hog-eyed Johnston read one through. 
 
 He rose into the air, 
 His head went through his cabin roof 
 
 And smashed the clabboards there 
 
 [45] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 They met on the field of honor 
 
 At sunrise on that morn, 
 While searching for their overalls 
 
 Lost in the field of corn. 
 
 When Hog-eyed Johnston's charging cheer 
 
 Rang over Murkeytown, 
 The colored guard came mustering fast 
 
 To put the riot down. 
 
 And when the row was ended, 
 And the doctor set their bones, 
 
 They had paid for their dishonesty 
 With blood and grief and groans. 
 
 MORAL 
 
 Oft retributive justice falls 
 
 In unexpected ways 
 And in unexpected places 
 
 On the villians in life's plays. 
 
 AN IRISH FAIRY TALE 
 
 All the fairies of the island, 
 
 With their gorgeous king and queen, 
 Were at midnight gayly dancing 
 
 In a circle on the green. 
 
 Many a fairy knight in armour, 
 
 Many a witching fairy lass, 
 Gayly tripped the light fantastic 
 
 In a circle on the grass. 
 
 [46] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Thirteen, fifteen, fourteen 
 
 Were the magic words they said, 
 While their gaudy trappings glittered, 
 
 And the moon shone overhead. 
 And a proud man and a hunchback 
 
 Gazed upon the mystic scene; 
 Heard their mystic chant while dancing 
 
 Gayly 'round their king and queen. 
 
 Long they gazed at them in silence, 
 But at last the hunchback said: 
 
 "Thirteen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen," 
 While the happy dancers sped. 
 
 And a shout of approbation 
 
 Rose from all that fairy throng, 
 
 "Thirteen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen," 
 Rang in accents loud and long. 
 
 Then they took the little hunchback. 
 
 And while fairy bands did play, 
 With their painless knives and scissors, 
 
 Cut his ugly hump away. 
 
 And the proud man gazed in wonder, 
 
 And unto himself said he: 
 "If I'll add seventeen to the chorus, 
 
 They'll do something grand for me." 
 
 But no sooner had he said it 
 
 Than a shout of anger rose: 
 "Who has spoiled our incantation?" 
 
 And they felled them with their blows. 
 
 Quick they seized the proud offender, 
 And they bound him to a rack, 
 
 [47] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 And the hunchback's hump forever 
 Firmly fixed upon his back. 
 
 Now the moral to this story 
 Is, Leave well enough alone, 
 
 Or perchance we'll meet some evil 
 That will make our spirits groan. 
 
 MUSKOGEE RED'S HOROSCOPE: A DREAM 
 
 I dreamed that I was dreaming 
 
 Of astrologers of old 
 Who read from out the book of fate 
 
 And strange events foretold. 
 
 They had spent many sleepless nights 
 
 In watching overhead, 
 A strange erratic comet 
 
 With a tail of fiery red. 
 
 They said, "We do prognosticate 
 There will be a red-haired man. 
 
 Who'll be a restless, roving sport, 
 Somewhat like Jenghis' khan; 
 
 "Somewhat like Alexander, 
 
 Who drank too deep of wine." 
 
 They cast his horoscope with care, 
 And did the business fine. 
 
 They said "We do prognosticate 
 (Now, reader, do not scoff) 
 
 He will stay a while to make a stake, 
 And then he will hike off." 
 
 [48] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 And while f gazed upon them, 
 
 In unison they said, 
 "The name he will be known by 
 
 Will be Muskogee Red." 
 
 The comet crossed a string of stars 
 
 As crooked as could be. 
 They said Muskogee Red would cross 
 
 The crooked K,, N. & D. 
 
 Past Aquarius, the comet, 
 
 Rushed on with double speed; 
 
 The astrologers at once sat up, 
 And of this fact took heed. 
 
 They said this indicated, 
 
 And it was plain to see, 
 Muskogee Red and water 
 
 Would never well agree. 
 
 In passing Mars, the comet moved 
 
 So near and very slow. 
 The astrologers said Muskogee Red 
 
 Would never fear a foe. 
 
 By Virgo next the comet rushed 
 With more than lightning speed. 
 
 That he would have no love affairs. 
 On this they all agreed. 
 
 The astrologers then vanished, 
 
 And other scenes begun; 
 I saw the real Muskogee Red 
 
 March toward the setting sun. 
 
 I followed him where landscapes rose; 
 I followed where they fell; 
 
 [49] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 I traced him o'er the mountain top; 
 I chased him through the dell. 
 
 Through village or through city street. 
 
 Where'er his pathway led, 
 I followed, and the cry arose, 
 
 "There goes Muskogee Red!" 
 
 Friends grasp Muskogee by the hand, 
 And said, "Come stay a while," 
 
 His contenance then wore a bland 
 And radiant, heavenly smile. 
 
 He said, with accent soft and low, 
 "This desert is far too dry." 
 
 He turned his prow toward the west, 
 And bade them all good-bye. 
 
 In spirit still I followed him 
 
 Unto our western shore. 
 He stood beside the Golden Gate, 
 
 To hear old ocean roar. 
 
 Somewhere on heathen Kearney street 
 A Mongol with shaved head 
 
 Cried, "Hoopela! Me have a time, 
 Same as Muskogee Red!" 
 
 From Golden Gate to Golden State, 
 He turned him to the south. 
 
 In a land of wine, you may divine. 
 There was no cause for drouth. 
 
 Through San Fernando tunnel 
 He passed in darkest night. 
 
 And marched upon Los Angeles 
 And took the town all right. 
 
 [50] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 Of all the sports I ever met, 
 Some living now, some dead, 
 
 I never met a gayer soul 
 Than old Muskogee Red. 
 
 CHOOSE A CLEAN FRIEND 
 
 Vile, base boozing, 
 
 And licentious, too — 
 Is this the thing 
 
 The Lord, God, made for you? 
 
 Is this the choosing 
 
 Of a Godlike mind? 
 Can you no purer friendship 
 
 Seek and find? 
 
 A destroyer of virtue, 
 
 Disgusting, low and base — 
 
 Can a pure soul 
 
 Such rottenness embrace? 
 
 All they who tread 
 
 The downward path of shame. 
 Their records burn them 
 
 Like a qunchless flame. 
 
 On earth, vile outcasts, 
 Their's the lowest place; 
 
 Their sad lives spent 
 In torture and disgrace. 
 
 [51] 
 
POEMS BY EDWARD THOMAS FAY 
 
 The pure will seek 
 
 For friendship pure and clean, 
 And spurn the reprobate 
 
 Low, base and mean. 
 
 And heaven will bless 
 Their efforts in the end 
 
 To find their souls' desire -^ 
 A noble friend. 
 
 t52] 
 
POEMS BY JOHN FAY 
 
 LIFE'S MARCH 
 
 Marching, inarching, ceaseless marching, 
 Marching early, marching late, 
 
 To the river Leathe forever. 
 At a sure and rapid rate. 
 
 Hasting home the poor and friendless; 
 Hasting home the rich and great 
 
 Still omniverous time is watching; 
 
 He will have us for his prey; 
 He is whittling, whittling, whittling. 
 
 With a steady hand each day, 
 At the plank on which we're drifting, 
 
 Till it's whittled all away. 
 
 And it seems time, unrelenting, 
 Glories in life's tempest rage. 
 
 Loves to crush the brightest flower. 
 Loves to soil the whitest page; 
 
 Glories in the wreck of manhood. 
 Glories in the fall of age. 
 
 SHAKSPEARE 
 
 Great king of thought, whose sway 
 
 Extends o'er sea and land; 
 Now wonderetli all men at thy intellectual ken; 
 
 Earth seemed transparent in thy hand. 
 Perhaps, unconscious of thy strength, 
 
 [53] 
 
POEMS BY JOHN FAY 
 
 Thy mind no glory sought, 
 But with a giant's might, 
 
 Thou hast fixed the ensign bright 
 Beyond the outposts in the realm of thought. 
 
 And generations yet to be 
 Shall revel in those thoughts of thine, 
 
 And ages shall roll past, 
 And yet, thy fame shall last, 
 
 And none shall come to write thy name 
 Beyond thy line. 
 
 DENVER 
 
 I saw within a dried-up land, 
 A desert at a mountain's base; 
 A trackless, uninviting place. 
 
 Swept by hot winds and shifting sand. 
 
 The mountain rose from out the West. 
 To meet a sky serene and clear — 
 Rose in the thin blue atmosphere 
 
 In massive strength, from base to crest. 
 
 In after years I looked once more 
 
 Upon the scene. The sun shone bright. 
 And lo, a city flashed in sight 
 
 Where all was weary waste before. 
 
 A grand new city of the plain. 
 
 And gardens bloomed and water ran, 
 And there was food for beast and man. 
 
 And victory for hand and brain. 
 
 [54] 
 
POEMS BY JOHN FAY 
 
 SPRING THOUGHTS 
 
 Each year, the same old toil we meet, 
 
 Neath the same old sun, with the same old flame. 
 The same old earth is beneath our feet, 
 
 But the faces of friends are not the same; 
 
 No, not the same, for the happiest faces 
 That beamed upon life's earliest spring, 
 
 If not lying under the sod, show traces 
 Of time or care or suffering's sting. 
 
 But again, the birds around us are singing, 
 And the blue is above and the green below; 
 
 Again the flowers around us are springing, 
 Even as they sprung in the long ago. 
 
 And some shall bloom for the lowly and weak. 
 And time-honored Hymen shall have his share. 
 
 For the blushes that come to the bride's fair cheek 
 Shall glow beneath the flowers in her hair. 
 
 Then sow the seeds for the harvest treasure, 
 And twine the garland while you may, 
 
 For there cometh a time when human pleasure 
 Shall end in the winter of cold decay. 
 
 MY KANSAS HOME 
 
 Some men may seek through long weary years. 
 
 With and eager and anxious look. 
 In every realm, Voth east and west. 
 
 [55] 
 
POEMS BY JOHN FAY 
 
 For some bright Arcadian nook; 
 But as for me, you will never see 
 
 Me pull up my stakes and roam 
 From the trees that grow 
 And the winds that blow 
 
 Around my Kansas home. 
 
 Some may fame and fortune find, 
 
 In cities thronged and old, 
 And some from out the rugged West 
 
 Wrest shining heaps of gold. 
 But as for me, no land or sea 
 Will ever tempt me to roam. 
 I will take smaller gains 
 And the quiet that reigns 
 Around my Kansas home. 
 
 Some may praise the music and art 
 
 Of some far-off foreign land, 
 Wherever, in wide cathedral vaults, 
 
 Swell rolling anthems grand. 
 For me, there is a minstrelsy 
 
 Not equalled 'neath Heavens dome. 
 'Tis the birds that sing, 
 In the joyous spring 
 Around my Kansas home. 
 
 RETROSPECTIVE 
 
 When the clouds of life hang thick and black, 
 My memory often surges back 
 And bids unto my views arise 
 
 [56] 
 
POEMS BY JOHN FAY 
 
 Much sweeter scenes and brighter skies. 
 
 Then memory, on its backward flow, 
 
 Brings up the scenes of long ago. 
 
 The cottage 'neath the wooded hill 
 
 Where oft I heard the whippoorwill; 
 
 The giant oak that threw its shade 
 
 O'er the tufted grass on which I played; 
 
 The maple grove, the distant hill 
 
 That shut out the cold world's chill; 
 
 The little streamlet's swollen flow, 
 
 The melting of the drifted snow, 
 
 And the thunder shower, when I was a boy, 
 
 Each had its own peculiar joy. 
 
 I have traveled many miles since then. 
 
 And learned the wiles and ways of men. 
 
 And yet, may travel in many a clime, 
 
 And see strange sights and scenes sublime. 
 
 But never again will come to me 
 
 That happy boyhood's ecstacy, 
 
 Or know again such sweet delights 
 
 As when gazing on those rustic sights. 
 
 The spring of life is replete with hope, 
 
 And manhood comes with broader scope 
 
 Of thoughts and feelings, temptation's pains, 
 
 And endless worry for hearts and brains. 
 
 As forward through life we journey on. 
 
 Our early dreams fade one by one, 
 
 And the deeper thoughts and the broader view 
 
 Proved things were false we believed were true. 
 
 [57] 
 
Lot 57 
 

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