The Poetical Works of George Barlow In Ten [Eleven] Volumes |
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 | The Poetical Works of George Barlow |  |
267
IX. THE ENGINE DRIVER
Through sleet and snow
The wild wheels go:
Across waste wolds with purple heather bright,
O'er many a bridge,
Through tunnelled ridge,
Flinging weird fires along the startled night,
The engine flies,—
And one man's steady eyes
And hands must guide the thundering force aright.
The wild wheels go:
Across waste wolds with purple heather bright,
O'er many a bridge,
Through tunnelled ridge,
Flinging weird fires along the startled night,
The engine flies,—
And one man's steady eyes
And hands must guide the thundering force aright.
What trust we place
In that one face,
In those stern lips and dauntless hands that steer:
Bridegroom and bride
Sit side by side,
And trust their lives to him without a fear.
Through sun and snow
The flashing wild wheels go:
He guides those flashing wheels from year to year.
In that one face,
In those stern lips and dauntless hands that steer:
Bridegroom and bride
Sit side by side,
268
Through sun and snow
The flashing wild wheels go:
He guides those flashing wheels from year to year.
Through storm and sun
The wild wheels run;
Blue skies o'erhead, or murky midnight gloom:
Through summer showers,
Past woodbine—bowers,
Past steep banks yellowed with soft primrose-bloom.
Yet one man's skill
Makes the end good or ill:
He holds the keys of pleasure—or the tomb!
The wild wheels run;
Blue skies o'erhead, or murky midnight gloom:
Through summer showers,
Past woodbine—bowers,
Past steep banks yellowed with soft primrose-bloom.
Yet one man's skill
Makes the end good or ill:
He holds the keys of pleasure—or the tomb!
| The Poetical Works of George Barlow | |