IT was an English summer day, Some six or seven years ago, That a pointsman before his cabin paced, With a listless step, and slow. He lit his pipe -- there was plenty of time -- In his work there was nothing new; Just to watch the signals and shift the points When the next train came in view. He leant 'gainst his cabin and smoked away, He was used to lounge and wait; Twelve hours at a stretch he must mind those points, And down-trains were mostly late! A rumble, a roar, -- "She's coming now -- She's truer to time to-day!" He turns, and not far between the rails Sees his youngest boy at play. Not far, @3but too far!@1 The train is at hand, And the child is crawling there, And patting the ground with crows of delight -- And not a moment to spare! His face was dead white, but his purpose firm, As straight to his post he trod, And shifted the points and saved the down-train, And trusted his child to God. There's a rush in his ears, though the train has passed; He gropes, for he cannot see, To the place where the laughing baby crawled, Where the mangled limbs must be. But he hears a cry that is only of fear, His joy seems too great to bear; For his duty done, God saw to his son -- The train had not touched a hair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BRACELET: TO JULIA by ROBERT HERRICK CHANGE by WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS SPRING'S WELCOME, FR. ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE by JOHN LYLY ENVOY: 5. TO MY NAME-CHILD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON FIRST CYCLE OF LOVE POEMS: 5 by GEORGE BARKER IF THE WORLD WERE RIGHT by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 16 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |