Show A GUest I I OLD STUFF Last night an ancient book I read Two hundred years ago Its author plainly said The torch of hope burned low Wrote he No comfort can I see For this sad dreary world Our glorious past Is doomed to be Into destruction hurled The beauty of our age lies dead Our youth routh is pleasure mad The love lo of virtue long has fled Mens Men's manners now areS are bad bacI Courage and honor ar are no more mort Women omen arc are slaves sla to dress Nothing tho the future has in store But ut misery and distress I put aw-a aw away the ancient book You poor old world said I Your futures future's had bad a sorry look That fact I cant can't den deny Two hundred years ears ago In dread ad pd ld Age with troubled brow Deplored the wa ways 1 of ot youth and said Just what its it's saying now But still youve you've lived two hundred years Past your predicted doom And made some progress s it appears Despite the inky y gloom Today our youth Is pleasure mad In fear our heads we bow And I presume twill be as bad I Two hundred years from tram now Copyright t 1926 Edgar A A. G Guest est |