He had listened to the siren
As she sang from further west,
Till her music stirred within him
And he felt a strange unrest.
So he wandered to Alberta
And to Winnipeg, B.C.,
Lured along by glowing promise
Of some fertile acres free.
And he left behind his kindred
And he quit Nebraska land
To grab off some chilblain acres
Where it snows to beat the band,
And he froze his toes and fingers,
And he starved a while -and then
Turned his eyes back to Nebraska,
And he''s safe at home again.
He had listened to the music
Of the men with golden bricks
Till he felt he could do better
If he turned some newer tricks;
So he wandered up to Puget
And to Brownville on the coast,
And he alternated freezing
With the hottest kind of roast,
Then he dreamed of old Nebraska
And her blooming, fertile fields,
Where the soil laughs into harvest
With Dame Nature''s richest yields-
Then he turned his face towards her
And he took his homeward way,
And He''s back here in Nebraska-
And, you bet, he''s going to stay.
They may talk of better countries
Till their throats are parched and sore,
But the one that beats Nebraska
Is upon the Golden Shore.
They may talk of better climate,
But Nebraska can''t be beat
Till with harps we are parading
Up the Golden City''s street.
They may talk of lands more fertile
Till they fairly gasp for breath,
But Nebraska has the garden
Of Old Eden skinned to death,
And the man who leaves Nebraska
Thinking better land to find,
Needs to pause and brush the cobwebs
From the attic of his mind.
-William M. Maupin
Omaha Bee Editorial Staff