. Switch lights . h clickety clicks the world w^e awaken, While clankety clanks fill all with cheer,As onward we swing with a thousand echoes That sing the song of May time here. SWITCH-LIGHTS. 13 Cbe Caetk by the Rail* Away down there by the busy track Where the engines bell is rung,And the rumble of the train is heard, And the song of the wheel is sungStands a castle, close by the throbbing line, A castle, six by Switchman Mike with his old clay pipe. Guides passengers and freight. This castle there—this six by eight,— Is a queersome little shack,With a leaky roof and a rusty pip
. Switch lights . h clickety clicks the world w^e awaken, While clankety clanks fill all with cheer,As onward we swing with a thousand echoes That sing the song of May time here. SWITCH-LIGHTS. 13 Cbe Caetk by the Rail* Away down there by the busy track Where the engines bell is rung,And the rumble of the train is heard, And the song of the wheel is sungStands a castle, close by the throbbing line, A castle, six by Switchman Mike with his old clay pipe. Guides passengers and freight. This castle there—this six by eight,— Is a queersome little shack,With a leaky roof and a rusty pipe. And walls all smoked and small round stove and flags and lights, And benches carved with care,Is all the furniture it has— Except a three-legged chair. And here this king, old one-armed Mike, Waits patiently each train,Lines up the switches—gives the right To speed on down the recognizes each and all The fellows riding high,Then goes inside, relights his pipe, And dreams of days gone 14 SWITCH-LIGHTS. He dreams about his boyhood hours— Ambition then was world was fair and life was bright, And filled with cheer and dreams again the dream of youth, When some bright sunny dayUp in the cab or on the car Hed wheel the miles away. And as the smoke curls bove his head, A tear steals from his eyeThat tells he lives again the time When death came creeping nigh;And all the castles that he reared Were shattered, one and be a thousand times rebuilt Within this castles wall. And so, down there midst all the roarAnd smoke and dust and steam, And clang of bell, and whistles screech,And different signals gleam, Is this old king, with his old clay pipe,And his memories dear to him. Where he builds his castles oer again-Built first in years now dim. SWITCH-LIGHTS. 15 H Song of the Iron CratU Ho! Ho! for a ride down the Iron Trail As the Spirit of Light creeps west,AVhile shadows pass in the moonlit veil As if on a ghostly quest;Then on
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, booksubjectrailroa, bookyear1902
