Life — September 12, 1912 — page 16: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

SL RSE * Ode to Texas REAT State, the greatest since the fall of Ilion, What pen presumptuously may strive to chronicle Your deeds in terms sufficiently Thrason- ical To please your four (or is it seven?) million ! Let all the Muses step up to the bar And drink five fingers to the Single Star! In sixteen-ninety, brave with helm and sword, a Command of Frenchmen founded Matagorda And would have stayed, no doubt; But, hard upon their heels, a troop of Spaniards Arrived; with muskets, culverins and lanyards They drove the Frenchmen out. The proud Castilians had their day And swarthy Mexicans held sway , Crockett, Carson, Till men like Houston, Bor Who, like old Richelieu, that famous parson, Had struck the low word “ fail” from out their lexicons, Druv out them Mexicans. And, having raised the star, a nation’s sign, Despatched to Washington this valentine Composed currente calamo: “Dear Uncle : Please don’t forget the And make haste to annex us. ¥ ar urs most sincerely, Texas.” Her woodland waves, her prairie undulates, Her teeming acres spread,—another Eden. Why, she could swallow seven common States And even Germany, or France, or Sweden! To do her beauty justice would require A tongue more versed than mine in culogistics; Her fruitfulness defies the feeble lyre;— Oh, read the Agricultural Statistics That tell of wheat on blackland prairie swales, And coastal rice and sugar!—I've forgotten By just how many hundred thousand bales,— But anyhow, she stumps us all for cotton. The crops of maize and barley that she rears And luscious fruits, are perfectly amazing. The Beef Trust knows how many million steers And cows upon her pastures now are grazing. Her mines are rich; and leagues of pipe connect With wells of oil that pour their mellow fountains. She has, it seems to me, but one defect— Though long on plains she’s somewhat short on moun- tains. But oh, her men are wise, her maids are fair; And, that her fame may grow and brighten daily, She ke: At Washington, a Senator named Bailey. ps in what is called a “curule chair” Ah, Texas, but for you What would our authors do For tales of dashing, daring Border Rangers, Of cowboys wild and raw, Extremely quick to draw, Most chivalrous, though often rude to strangers! The scribes have made you known. They've writ of “San Antone,” Of ranches by the rushing Colorado, Of schoolmarms sweet and bright, Of sheriffs “reel polite” And picnics on the Llano Estacado. And still, though thus our scribbling folk have schooled us In dreams of other days, they have not fooled us. Plain, honest Truth is not to be disgui: We know that you're at least as civilized In Morals, Manners, Letters As old New York,—and that’s not saying much. But, better far than all the Past’s bestowing, You've vigor, courage, youth and room for growing, With friendly will and ample means to care for The millions who shall seck your borders; wherefore, Hail, Texas !— The Nation’s Solar Plexus! Art and such Arthur Guiterman, comicbooen