OR, THE WORLD HAS CHANGED. 81 



THIS DAY OF PROGRESSION. 



THE world moves on, it does progress, 

 Rests not, rushing on, on it goes ; 

 Where, or whitherward it may be bound. 

 Is veiled — God himself only knows. 



We may look back for fifty years, 

 And our records tell of many more ; 



New petals bud and then unfold, 



And each one gives a greed for more. 



To-day every man's for himself. 



Hindmost left to the devils care ; 

 The tickling game, the winning card, 



Man must tickle, to get his share- 

 Friendship is but an empty sound, 



And gratitude a giddy farce ; 

 Going up we meet many a friend, 



But coming down we find them scarce. 



Who to-day is our dear neighbor, 

 On whom are your praises lavished ; 



They who sit on the topmost rails, 

 Favors wanted there are ravished. 



Boot licking full in fashion nov*', 



A science made of flattery ; 

 Success, hard won without deceit. 



The tickling force the battery. 



