Amid stresses and strain, much too many to mention,
And pressure-packed days filled
with turmoil and tension,
We seldom have time to be friendly or kind,
For we’re harassed and hurried and always behind …
And while we’ve more gadgets and buttons to press
Making leisure time greater and laboring less
And our standards of living they claim have improved
And repressed inhibitions have been freed and removed,
It seems all this progress and growth are for naught,
For daily we see a world more distraught …
So what does it matter if man reaches his goal
And gains the whole world but loses his soul?
For what have we won if in gaining this end
We’ve been much too busy to be kind to a friend?
And what is there left to make the heart sing
When life is a cold and mechanical thing?
And are we but puppets of controlled automation
Instead of joint heirs to God’s gift of creation?