“Progress”

Circa 1911, Bixler Lake, Kendallville, Indiana. From the collection of Michael Mapes

Why did the hearts of men forsake
The shadowed shores of our dear lake?
Why did they clear away the trees
That helped to form the memories
Of barefoot days when pathways wound
Through weeds and willows, hallowed ground,
Where once the old icehouses stood?
As when, as boys, we used to play,
And fish the happy hours away.

’Tis but a fool who understands
Why beauty falls to careless hands
That seem to love to tear apart
The things…so dear to every heart.
Maybe Progress has its place,
But it should never bring disgrace,
Nor should it e’er be placed above
The things that God wants us to love.

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