Progress

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A 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.
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