MORNING IN KANSAS 

 There are lands beyond the ocean which are gray beneath their years, where a hundred generations learned to sow and reap and spin; where the sons of Shem and Japhet wet the furrow with their tears—and the noontide is departed, and the night is closing in. 

 Long ago the shadows lengthened in the lands across the sea, and the dusk is now enshrouding regions nearer home, alas! There are long deserted homesteads in this country of the free—but it's morning here in Kansas, and the dew is on the grass. 

 It is morning here in Kansas, and the breakfast bell is rung! We are not yet fairly started on the work we mean to do; we have all the day before us, for the morning is but young, and there's hope in every zephyr, and the skies are bright and blue. 

 It is morning here in Kansas, and the dew is on the sod; as the builders of an empire it is ours to do our best; with our hands at work in Kansas, and our faith and trust in God, we shall not be counted idle when the sun sinks in the West. 

 

 

 EDITORIAL INFLUENCE 

 It is a solemn thing, to think when you sit down to splatter ink, that what you write, in prose or verse, may be a blessing or a curse. The gems of thought that you impart may upward guide some mind and heart; some youth may read your Smoking Stuff, and say: "That logic's good enough; the path of virtue must be fine; I'll have no wickedness in mine."  And some day, when you're old and gray, that youth may come along your way, and say, in language ringing true: "All that I've won I owe to you! When I was young I read your rot; it hit a most responsive spot, encouraged me for stress and strife, and made me choose the best in life."  And this will warm your heart and brain; you'll know you have not lived in vain. But if you write disgusting dope, that thrusts at Truth, and Faith and Hope; if you apologize for vice, and show that wickedness is nice, it well may chance, when you are old, and in your veins the blood runs cold, there'll come your way some dismal wreck, who'll roast you sore, and cry: "By heck! And also I might say, by gum!  'Twas you that put me on the bum! Your writings got me headed wrong; you threw it into Virtue strong; and in the prison that you see, I'm convict No. 23!" 

 

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