I think this pushes back the oldest known date a bit and possibly supplies an author:

From The Railroad Trainman, Vol. 29, No. 5, (Cleveland: Brotherhood of Railroad Trainmen, May, 1912), page 411:


THE HOBO'S LAMENT.

'Twas at a western water tank.
One cold December day.
Within an empty boxcar
A dying hobo lay.

His partner stood beside him,
With sad and drooping head;
And silently he listened
While the dying hobo said:

"I am going," said the weary,
"To a land that's fair and bright;
Where the weather's always warm enough
To sleep outdoors at night.

"Where the handouts grow on bushes,
And houses have no locks.
And little streams of alcohol
Come trickling down the rocks.

"Tell my kid back in Chicago,
When once more his face you see.
That I am thinking of him always;
Tell him not to weep for me.

"Tell him that I am dying game.
In his eyes no tears must lurk;
For I am going to a land that's fair.
Ten thousand miles from work."

—John Kern