Behind us lies a long forgetfulness —
Past upon past deep buried in the brain;
No memories penetrate those ages old,
Lift the uncounted curtains, fold on fold,
And let us see our earliest days again.

Could they — what wonder, interest, delight,
Clouded with shame for those dark, stumbling years,
In tracing up that long unbroken line,
That slow development of life divine,
From beast to man — the triumph and the tears!

Yet always one unfailing source of power —
However low we go or high we come,
However crude or cruel, weak or blind,
Through every change, in every age, we find
The Mother and the Baby and the Home