Tempus Mutans

The modern version of an old poem as it is interpreted ' by J. C. Dionne

Ob Why Should the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud?

(Abraham Lincoln's Favorite Poem.)

Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift fleeting meteor-a fast flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the waveMan passeth from life to his rest in the grave.

For we are the same that our fathers have been, 'We see the same sights that our father's have seen, We drink the same stream, rve view the same sun, We run the same course that our fathers have run.

The thoughts we are thinking, our fathers rvould think. From. the death we are shrinking, our fathers rvould shrink. To the life we are clinging, they also rvould cling, But it speeds from us all like a bird on the rving.

They loved; but the story we cannot unfold ; They scorned: but the heart of the haughti' is cold. They died. Aye, they died. And we things that are norv, That walk on the turf that lies over their browThat make in their dwellings a transient abode, Meet the things that they met, on their pilgrimage road.

Yes, hope and desporrdency, pleasure and pain. We mingle together like sunshine and rainFrom the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroucl, Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud ?

Why Shouldn't the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud?

(With full apologies to "Honest Abe.")

Why shouldn't the spirit of mortal be proud ? And why should our heads for a moment be bowed ? With nerv thoughts all riding the crest of the wave, There's a Hell of a lot'tween the cradle and grave.

For we're NOT the same that our fathers have been; We see sights our fathers could never have seen, We deepen the stream, and rve focus the sun, And we pave that old course that our fathers have run.

Our thinking machinery travels in high, We're living to DO things, and not just to die; To life we've quitclinging-we're making a fussIt keeps life right busy, just clinging to US.

They loved; but they only loved one at a time; They scorned; but rve hate with a hate that's sublime; They died. Aye, they died. And u'e things that are norv, Play golf on the turf that lies over their browWe 'ivreck those old dwellings rvhere once they abode, And rve build modern homes on tl-reir Pilgrimage Road.

Why shouldn't the spirit of rnortal be proud?

We've learned that you can't take a purse in a shroud. \\re go to the movies, rve ride in a carWe're learning that living beats dying, by far.

We'r'e closed the saloons where the beer made men loudWhy shouldn't the spirit of mortal be proud?