If you're a fond disciple of
The things that used to be,
Brush the cobwebs from your vision,
Open wide your eyes and see
That the world has turned a corner,
That your yesterdays are dead,
That the business of tomorrow
Forges on and looms ahead.
If you're holding to the standards
That are sanctified by time,
But ill-suited to this era,
Then I wouldn't give a dime
For your chance to win the future
That now tosses on the crest.
You are looking to the sunset,
You are facing to the west.
If to old techniques and fashions
You have come to be a slave,
If you can't shift gears while going,
Then they's better dig your grave.
You have seen the swift procession
Rumbling, thundering by your door,
Moving on to fields of action
Where no road has gone before.
If you fight for old traditions,
Use a wooden sword, you clown!
You are shipped before the battle --
Put your rusty armor down,
It is futile aiming, brother --
Looking back to get the range --
You'll be numbered with the missing
On the battlefield of change.
If you see, on bleak horizons,
Nothing more than man's defeat
You are moving to the trumpets
Of armies in retreat.
Men with faith to build on wreckage
Will see banners proudly furled
In a day that soon is dawning
On an old, out-moded world!
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