The seven steel-ribbed coaches Draw smoothly to the shed, And you and other passengers Now hurry home to bed; You've done your easy hundred miles In ninety minutes clear -- Then thank the man who brought you, The old gray engineer. Your hope, your love, your children, The prayers that you have prayed, Lie in his faithful fingers On trestle, curve and grade; By crossing, draw and culvert His leaping engine roars, And clear as altar lamps he sees The green-lit semaphores. Unthanked and unremembered, He holds your life secure; His service does not falter, His hand and eye are sure; A thousand tons go flashing Along that ribbon slim; The roar of his tall driving wheels Is very like a hymn. His miracle of power Is terrible and swift; Farewells and lovers' meetings Are equally his gift; In starlight or in snowstorm, A priest of creed austere, He brings you home in safety -- The old gray engineer. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LIFE [AND DEATH] by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THE BURIAL-MARCH OF THE DUNDEE by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN WOONE SMILE MWORE by WILLIAM BARNES MY FORMER LIFE by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE EPITAPH ON THE TOMBSTONE OF A CHILD, LAST OF SEVEN THAT DIED BEFORE by APHRA BEHN THE SONGS OF SUMMER by MATHILDE BLIND |