In the bus’ness crush
He goes with a rush,
And his energy makes things hum:
He holds a full hand,
Is brave in command,
And never shrinks when hard times come.
His cup now is full.
He has a strong pull,
He’s right in the crisis of strife;
To hold all his gain,
He must bear stiff rein,
He’s riding his gallop of life.
WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE WE KNEW.
Where are all the people we knew
In the generations gone past,
The thousands of men, false and true,
And who have disappeared so fast?
Whither have they gone, do you know?
To what vast haven have they sped?
Are they reaping as they did sow?
Are they living, or are they dead?
They died and were laid in the ground,
And kind words said over their graves,
But some were lost and never found,
And some perished under the waves;
Some were left on the battle field,
And became food for birds and beasts,
Others were forced their lives to yield
That cannibals might have their feasts.
Some bodies to ashes were burned,
And others have changed into stone,
A few into mummies were turned
And preserved in the skin and bone.
How they died it matters not now,
Nor if their race was lost or won,
They are gone and we meekly bow,
And say—O Lord, Thy will be done.
Have those bodies been born again?
Were they restored to life and health?
Are they supplied with blood and brain?
Are they in poverty, or wealth?
A God that can revive the dead,
A perpetual life can give,
Therefore we hold it may be said,
The body has but once to live.
But what has become of the souls,
That lived in the bodies now dead?
Are they counted on the same rolls?
Or have they from their bodies fled?
What is the soul, can you explain?
Is it an invisible thing,
Without flesh or blood, heart or brain,
Can it talk, or fly; can it sing?
Can it out of the body live?
Is it without physical life?
Has it no need to take or give?
Is it clear of trouble and strife?
If free from the body since death,
Was it not free before it died?
If independent of man’s breath
Why does it adhere to his side?