I held my watch to the lamplight-- Ten minutes behind the time! Lost in the slackened motion Of the up grade's heavy climb; But I knew the miles of the prairie That stretched a level track, So I touched the gauge of the boiler, And pulled the lever back. Over the rails a-gleaming, Thirty an hour, or so, The engine leaped like a demon, Breathing a fiery glow; But to me--ahold of the lever-- It seemed a child alway, Trustful and always ready My lightest touch to obey. I was proud, you know, of my engine, Holding it steady that night, And my eye on the track before us, Ablaze with the Drummond light. We neared a well-known cabin, Where a child of three or four, As the up-train passed, oft called me, A-playing around the door. My hand was firm on the throttle As we swept around the curve, When something afar in the shadow, Struck fire through every nerve. I sounded the brakes, and crashing The reverse lever down in dismay, Groaning to Heaven,--eighty paces Ahead was a child at its play! One instant--one awful and only, The world flew around in my brain, And I smote my hand hard on my forehead To keep back the terrible pain; The train I thought flying forever, With mad, irresistible roll, While the cries of the dying, the night-wind Swept into my shuddering soul. Then I stood on the front of the engine, How I got there I never could tell,-- My feet planted down on the cross-bar Where the cow-catcher slopes to the rail, One hand firmly locked on the coupler, And one held out in the night, While my eye gauged the distance and measured, The speed of our slackening flight. My mind, thank the Lord! it was steady; I saw the curls of her hair, And the face that turning in wonder, Was lit by the deadly glare. I know little more--but I heard it-- The groan of the anguished wheels, And remember thinking--the engine In agony trembles and reels. One rod! to the day of my dying, I shall think the old engine reared back, And as it recoiled with a shudder I swept my hand over the track; Then darkness fell over my eyelids, But I heard the surge of the train, And the poor old engine creaking, As racked by a deadly pain. They found us, they said, on the gravel, My fingers enmeshed in her hair, And she on my bosom a climbing, To nestle securely there. We are not much given to crying-- We men that run on the road-- But that night, they said there were faces, With tears on them, lifted to God. For years in the eve and the morning, As I neared the cabin again, My hand on the lever pressed downward And slackened the speed of the train. When my engine had blown her a greeting, She always would come to the door; And her look with a fullness of Heaven, Blessed me evermore. * * * * *