The child of this era is put into bed.

Good-bye to the cradle, the dear wooden cradle, It lent to the twilight a strange, subtle charm; When bees left the clover, when play-time was over, How safe seemed this shelter from danger or harm.

It lent to the twilight a strange, subtle charm;

How safe seemed this shelter from danger or harm.

How soft seemed the pillow, how distant the ceiling, How weird were the voices that whispered around, What dreams would come flocking, as rocking and rocking, We floated away into slumber profound.

How weird were the voices that whispered around,

We floated away into slumber profound.

Good-bye to the cradle, the old wooden cradle, The babe of to-day does not know it by sight. When day leaves the border, with system and order, The child goes to bed and we put out the light.

The babe of to-day does not know it by sight.

The child goes to bed and we put out the light.

I bow to Progression and ask no concession, Though strewn be her pathway with wrecks of the past; So off with old lumber, that sweet ark of slumber, The old wooden cradle, is ruthlessly cast.

Though strewn be her pathway with wrecks of the past;

The old wooden cradle, is ruthlessly cast.

 Ambition's Trail

If all the end of this continuous striving Were simply to attain, How poor would seem the planning and contriving The endless urging and the hurried driving Of body, heart and brain!

Were simply to attain,

Of body, heart and brain!

But ever in the wake of true achieving, There shines this glowing trail— Some other soul will be spurred on, conceiving, New strength and hope, in its own power believing, Because thou didst not fail.

There shines this glowing trail—

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