The Wonderful City of Oil
by Clarence N. Cosby. August 17, 1929

The evenings close

     and the Whistle blows

While the workman homeward plods

     While to the skies

The smokes arise

     An incense to the gods;

For human ants

     in carbon plants

Must shift the ceaseless toil--

     Must taste the life

With peace and strife

     In the wonderful city of oil.



From derrick tops

     And plants and shops

To the sidewalks every night

     The field men swarm

In tangled form

     Like Insects to a light

To steal away

     And spend their pay--

To revel, mar, and spoil

     And then regret

They can't forget ---

     In that wonderful city of oil.





So to and fro

     They come and go

In a milling, mottled throng

     Their whispered prayers

With vulgar airs

     Blends in a tuneless song.

For wealth and fame

     They play the game----

The winners split the spoil----

     The best--the worst,

The blest-- the cursed

     In the wonderful city of oil.