 | A book of Bristol sonnets |  |
47
IN MEMORIAM.
JOHN CHIDDY.
Forth from his quarry drag the largest stone,And bid the sculptor grave his name, his deed;
So that each village babe may grow to read,
Each grandsire preach, each father shew his son!
And let these simple words be writ thereon,—
“A stone fell railwards, and he knew the need,
“He recked not of the engine's rushing speed,
“But for a hundred lives he gave his one!”
Honour the man, whom generations brought
To live so well he could so nobly die!
In the hard school of quarry-labour taught,
He helped his brothers' hands continually.
When duty called, he dashed aside the thought
Of home,—left pick and barrow,—leapt to die!
| A book of Bristol sonnets | |