The Heroic Miner
The world has real heroes,
Whose minds with truth are stored.
Who never bled in battle,
Who never wielded sword:
True helpers of the people,
In moral warfare strong;
Whose lives have passed unheeded.
Whose names are not in song.
And such I deem the miner
Who, when his work was done,
Ascended in the bucket,
He and his little son.
O, how they fondly chatted,
As up the shaft they sped,
Of those who waited for them
Where their own board was spread!
When, hark! a crack which fills them
With sharp and sudden pain:
The rope, the rope is breaking,
Two strands are snapped in twain;
One, only one remaineth,-
The strain doth it destroy;
It cannot bear much longer
That father and his boy.
O noble, noble parent!
"Sit still, my child," said he.
"`t will bear you up in safety,
And do not grieve for me.'
And then that loving father
Sprang out into the gloom,
And found within the darkness
A Christian hero's tomb.
How grand is such an action
In this full world of strife!
Such deeds are deeply graven
Within the Book of Life:
And coming years should honour
The noble miner's name
In metal and in marble
With everlasting fame.
