86 THE FOGY DAYS AND NOW : 



Sometimes we meet him on the streets,- 

 Have marked his braggart swagger, 



Oe'r the humble, he towereth high, 

 To such his eye hath look of dagger. 



'Twould be hard if in this poor world, 

 If recompense in this dark vale. 



What entanglements wright and wrong. 

 Thank God there is a grand finale. 



What is progress, except from sin ? 



What worth the earth, its passing joys ? 

 A few short years when we look back. 



These mighty things will seem as toys. 



The rage now is to let 'er roll, 



Roll on, rush on, regardless where. 



Let 'er roll, we'll cross the stream. 

 Though we know the maelstrome's near. 



Sometimes we gaze into God's expanse, 

 Peer out into a thousand years. 



Then look back at the trifling past. 

 And smile at former joys and fears. 



See how we struggled there for naught, 

 Some worthless bauble to obtain, 



How many mistaken roads we took. 

 And how suffered there in vain. 



Then we laugh at human giant fools, 

 Whose form once towered o'er the poor. 



But pigmies do they now appear, 

 Shivering dwarfs outside the door. 



We see the once grand millionaire, 

 Who had but borrowed deceitful gold, 



That swelled his purse a little while, 

 And then found too late he was sold. 



