From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 173.
THE COMMUNITY NEWSPAPER
Of all the sheets from East to West
The local paper is the best.
Deep is our love and deep our debt
To Record, Journal or Gazette.
When first I landed on this ball,
A bit of flesh wrapped ’round a squall,
It welcomed me with joy and pride
My life has never justified.
It follows me my whole life through,
With words all kind and mostly true;
And even after I am hearsed
’Twill tell my best and hide my worst.
When in Oshkosh or Wickiup
I wander homesick as a pup,
Or if in foreign lands I roam,
It brings me pleasant news of home.
Across the sands, across the sea,
The old home paper comes to me.
It is a friend both true and tried,
And to it, gents, I point with pride;
Yea, I will hock my Sunday pants
To pay up six years in advance.