And unto that traffic surrendered his soul,
Since the Anno Eighteen Forty-eight.
For all of man’s wisdom is only a dream,
Which passeth away like a plate of ice-cream,
And the best of experience fails, as we mark,
If you go for to dig when you’re all in the dark;
For there’s always a moral inside of a tale,
And big things in little things always prevail
As sure as there’s wood in the bark.