From Rude Rural Rhymes by Bob Adams, New York: The Macmillan Company; 1925; pp. 39-42.
CORN
From southern vales the corn plant came,
From lands of gold and Aztec fame,
Where long it held an honored place
In gardens of a vanished race.
With gleeful grins the seeds we drop,
With honest pride we pick the crop,
The flint and dent, the sweet and pop,
Dame Nature formed it long ago.
A giant grass in Mexico.
From tribe to tribe the gift was passed.
It reached our northern land at last,
To serve the early settlers’ need,
A sturdy staff of life indeed;
To swell with grain the Yankee cribs
And pad with fat their lanky ribs.
Still on our tables it appears,
And in the form of roasting ears,
Against our rugged features pressed,
It spreads them out from east to west.
A noble food, but what a pity
The way we eat it is not pretty.
We gnaw it off in gulps and gobs,
And on our plates we pile the cobs.
[42]
Between the ears we hardly pause
To wipe the butter from our jaws.
When sweet corn yearly waves its banners
We give vacation to our manners.