A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.)/Impromptu—Hartley Colliery
Improtnptu.
[Written on the subject of that never-to-be-forgotten fearful Accident, at Hartley Colliery, January, 1862, by which horrid catastrophe Two Hundred and Seven Persons were hurried into Eternity.]
Hark! a loud cry of anguish rends the air,
And none are silent, save where mute despair
Hath choked all utterance—where, with pallid cheek,
A wife or mother vainly tries to speak!
Fathers, in agony, look trembling on,
Whose son or sons down that dread shaft have gone;
And all is misery, grief, and dark dismay
At Hartley Colliery on that mournful day.
Not all are paralysed, strong men are there,
Who, spite of danger and the dread foul air,
Work on in willingness by night and day.
Doing in earnest all that mortals may
To drag from the jaws of Death their comrades—brave
If any yet might live in that gigantic grave,
Masters and men alike, with noble, feeling hearts,
In that "sad drama" bravely played their parts.
Oh, but 'twas terrible, that dire suspense!
Freezing the blood, benumbing every sense,
Till, from the yawning abyss, men appear,
Whose looks are ghastly, fraught with livid fear,
And from their pale parched lips (some shrieking fled)
Fell the appalling sentence—All are dead!
There are no words that may express that scene
'Twere well in pity, perhaps, to draw a screen
O'er frenzied feelings, and the mad despair
That all, or nearly all, that stricken district share,
God, in Thy mercy hear our humble prayer,
Teach these bereft ones their great loss to bear—
Learn them to bow 'neath Thy Almighty will;
Be to the fatherless, a Father still—
Soothe in her hour of woe, the widow's heart—
Snatch from her bosom, Pain's relentless dart:
Give peace, Lord, to every tortured breast—
Help Thou the weak, and succour the distress'd.
And now for England: What will England say,
Or rather do, to keep despair away?
Who, that knows England, has a moment's dread
That these lone sufferers shall have daily bread,
And all such help as their sad case demands!
England has tender hearts, and helpful, willing hands;
And as, on startled ears, the direful tidings fall,
One common feeling will pervade them all.
On to the rescue ! England to the fore!
And "Hartley Colliery" rings from shore to shore!
Our Queen! God bless her, 'mid her own vast grief,
Shall listen to her heart, and send relief.
One glorious rivalry: 'tween rich and poor,
Shall drive stern want from every sufferer's door.
As prussic acid acts upon the body so doth pride upon the soul. Avoid both.