Chapter 13

The Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!
The lands are broad,
The lands are wide:
They were made for wheat.
Oil the drill,
Tune the binder,
Hook up the combine . . .
The Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!

Plant it along the Beaver,
Plant it along the Solomon,
Plant it along the Saline,
The Kaw, the Republican,
Big Creek and the Hill,
Plant it along the Walnut,
The Pawnee and the Arkansas,
Plant it along the Ninnescah
And the Neosho,
Along the Medicine, the Osage
And Marais des Cygnes,
Plant it along the Fall
And the Elk,
The Verdigris and West Branch . . .
The Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!

Lift the oil derricks high
At Eldorado,
At St. John,
At Gorham,
At Plainville,
At Wichita,
At Osawatomie
And Hugoton;
Drill the wells deep,
Drill them deeper,
Pour in acid
To open their bowels—
They waver and go dry . . .
The Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!

The wheat lies green
After the rain:
Turn in the stock,
The cows, the horses,
The sheep, the hogs;
Give them spring browse—
It's good for their bellies,
It makes the wheat stool out;
The young stock are happy
In the wheat fields . . .
The Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!

Four farm brothers
Bought wheatland
Along the Solomon;
They harvested 54,000 bushels,
In 1937;
Sold it for $1 a bushel,
Paid for their land
Twice over in one crop—
The Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!

Sometimes it rains,
Sometimes it is dry—
Twice a century
The Lord sends ten-year droughts
To rest the wheat;
The wheatland blows out,
The wheatland burns out,
The rust is red—
But the Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!

Now it's green in the springtime:
There's a low over Canada,
And a high over Baton Rouge,
And the south winds
Bring summer to March . . .
White cumulus
Floats over the wheatlands;
The wheat is dark in the shadow,
Yellow in the sun . . .
The Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!

The binders and combines
Go into the wheat;
The tractors are chugging,
The wheat pours out,
And the threshing machines
Belch straw down the wind—
The year's crop is in—
It runs 150,000 bushels,
Heavy and full . . .
The Lord Made Kansas For Wheat!

Who more than they have given? …
A tower answers
And a wall.
Twin banks of hawthorne
And two fountains playing
Day long, night long,
Answer:
"None more than they …
Who more than self
Their country gave."

The waters rising,
The waters falling,
The hawthorne tossing,
Say ever:
"None more than they…"

Behold a pale horse…
His name sat on him
Was Death…
A thousand names in
Bronze…
"On this spot. November 1, 1921,
In the presence of…
Foch, Pershing, Beatty,
Diaz, Jacques,
Was dedicated…
Their work liveth
For evermore…"

The dream-eyed throngs
Look up where smoke by day
And fire by night repeat:
"None…"
"None more than they…"
Eyes
Search the mappings:
Romagne,
The Bois de Bantheville,
Varennes,
And Dun-sur-Meuse,
The heights of Barricourt
Mount Sec,

Catigny,
Vaux…
Septsarges
Exermont…
Here fell their brothers
And their sires…
They look upon the
Bright made sheets
Postering
Bright deeds…
"Ils ne paseront pas,"
"Keep the sea lanes open,"
"They thought we couldn't fight,"
"On les aura."

And Wilson,
Singing:
"The glory of America
Goes deeper
Than all the tinsel;
Goes deeper
Than the sound of guns
And the clash of sabers;
It goes down
To the very foundation
Of those things
That have made
The spirit of Man
Free…
And happy…
And content."

Farewell…
And did they die in vain?
Say only
That they saved
Their souls—their souls
And ours
By what they did.
What that again
Violence sounds?
They quelled it once.

The fire-torch burns,
The stars look on…
The phrases leap again…
"Do justly and love mercy…
Then shall the earth
Yield her increase."