"
Six hundred souls one summer's day,
Worked in the deep, dark Hutton seams;
Men were hewing the coal away,
Boys were guiding the loaded teams.
Horror of darkness was everywhere;
It was coal above, and coal below,
Only the miner's guarded lamp
Made in the gloom a passing glow.
Down in the deep, black Hutton seams
There came a flowery, balmy breath;
Men dropped their tools, and left their teams,
They knew the balmy air meant death,
And fled before the earthquake shock,
The cruel fire-damp's fatal course,
That tore apart the roof and walls,
And buried by fifties, man and horse.
"The shaft! the shaft!" they wildly cried;
And as they ran they passed a cave,
Where stood a father by his son--
The child had found a living grave,
And lay among the shattered coal,
His little life had almost sped.
"Fly! fly! For there may yet be time!"
The father calmly, firmly said:
"Nay; I'll stay with the lad."
He had no hurt; he yet might reach
The blessed sun and light again.
But at his feet his child lay bound,
And every hope of help was vain.
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