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LITTLE light I humbly ask and a little crumb to eat And when I am a-weary a little rest and sleep, For in this great world's hustle it is little we really need But nothing will carry us fast enough except the iron steed. To the good old days of the Pilgrims my mind does oft go back And when we look at our bill of fare how much with them did Lack, But they were stout and happy and better I may say For the tedious and irksome hardships endured every day. If they wished to deliver a message an hundred miles from home They took a skiff, or better, they saddled the trusty roan; But now we talk five hundred miles without a hitch or flaw And never leave the office, and scarcely wag a jaw. If we have a business transaction we board a flying train And speed a mile per minute through heat or cold or rain; And when we think how different all things have grown to be I wish our good forefathers could just come back and see. When they crossed the briny ocean an hundred years ago Two months were they oft in crossing with the waft of the wind so slow; But now what a great commotion, the people sometimes say Springs up, if one of our ocean greyhounds is out past the seventh day. To-day if a man is busy he talks to a small machine That records his words and accent, so strangely does it seem, This later is set a-going, it seems so much like play, And to a skilled typewriter gives the whole talk away. You have heard perhaps of Darius who with his machine would fly And how he came down in the litter which practically closed his eye; But some of his late relations have firmly taken hold And they navigate the atmosphere as an eagle proud and bold. And the horses we were using are taking the dust to-dry From the automobile, they call it, and in fact it eats no hay And it never seems to tire, but will always get you there, With no fatigue in attendance, with the ease of a rocking- chair. The logs they used for fuel, in those days so long ago, When they thought of nothing better until no other way dill know; But now the gas for fuel is found both far and near Till the chopper has lost his honest job and sheds a silent tear. Thus we are rushing on today to unseen, unknown joys-- Gigantic minds with gems of thought, in which are few alloys: With Faith and Hope and Charity may every soul be blessed; When all the buds have blossomed in their perfumes may we rest. |
