Kansas was the biggest hit,
With her deserts and her prairies,
Where the coyotes howled and "fit".
And upon the world's great atlas
Kansas still, I claim, is "it."
Southern birds of evil omen
Made their nests in dugout thatch;
Freedom fired the sun-dried stubble
With her ever-ready match,
Gave the eggs so bad a roasting
That they never made a hatch.
In the Kansas days primeval,
Days before the cruel war,
Giants trod her hills and valleys,
From the pulpit, shop and bar,
Who began to blaze a pathway
To the most exalted star.
Suns they were, not free from blemish,
Spots, it may be, marred each name,
And thru word or deed of daring,
Little known to "Halls of Fame."
Yet they made the very heavens
With sweet Liberty aflame.
Lane who led without a turning
To the left hand or the right;
Brown the lover of the bondman,
Whether black or red or white;
Reeder, Geary, Denver,___beacons,
In a dark and stormy night.
Then there followed in close order
Men of royal pedigree;
Crawford, Harvey, Thacher, Wilder,
Plumb, St. John and Connelley,
Ingalls, Anthony and Haskell___
These are my big Kansas Three.
__J. M. Cavaness.
J. M. Cavaness
(Chanute: Tribune Pub. Co. 1913)