Classic Poem

A gnarled root impeded his descent,
And seizing hold the same, in act to draw,
O, what a groan the horrid silence rent!
You might have heard his heart that beat in awe!
It seemed a dead man's arm, worm-gnawed and raw,
And from it gushed a stream of stagnant gore!
But, shutting hard his eyes on what they saw,
He mentally a prayer repeated o'er,
Then with renewed strength he fell to digging more.