Classic Poem

God from man's forge sends ministers of flame
Who gird the earth, returning whence they came;
In Heaven's great forge, the heart, He mouldeth still
The angel spirits sent to do His will.

You know White Mountains, and the rail
That runs by Wakefield, Boston way?
A woman saved the home-bound mail
The other day.

A woman, not a strong one, mind,
Her babe still clinging to her breast
But thro' the storm of hail and wind
She did her best.

Beyond the curve a whirlwind blast
Had rooted up the wall of pine,
She heard the cars come thundering fast
Along the line.

Death round the curve! Death round the curve!
The driver's eyes are blind with sleet, —
That woman, with a strong man's nerve,
Leapt to her feet.

Left child and fire, thro' storm and wrack,
Thro' roar of wind and rattling rain
She dashed along the deadly track
To stop the train.

Stood firm, and like an angel's wing
The white scarf o'er her head she waved!
Stood firm, and did the only thing
That could have saved.

For lo! the engine's eyes have caught
Sight of the signal in her hands;
And at her feet to stillness brought
The swift train stands.

Harsh voices cried in anger then,
" Why stop us in our hot career? "
" I came, because the lives of men
To God are dear.

" I came though voices called me back —
Mine own babe's voice — I came to say
The trees are strewn across the track
And bar your way.

" I came, mine infant, four weeks old —
And storms like this can slay a man,
But pity seemed my babe to fold
Warm as I ran.

" I came, for Heaven gave strength and nerve,
I snatched this scarf from out the room,
I heard you thundering to the curve,
I knew your doom. "

Then fell a hush, then rose a prayer,
Warm-hearted hands her brave hand prest;
The saviour woman, silent there,
Had done her best.