|
The Armies Of Peace
No band precedes them on parade, no uniform they wear,
But armed with shovel, fuse and pick the underworld they dare,
They war against the inky dark, the overhanging shale
And all the perils that may mark a miner's burrowed trail.
Each day they seek the pit again to make the seam pay toll,
The armies that go underground to give the world its coal.
they face the ever-lurking damp that strikes when all seems well
And turns the many workings to a fierce and flaming hell.
They take their chance with cheerful mien in dust and wet and mirk,
They are not heroes to themselves--just workmen at their work.
And so they go about their task--to shoot and cut and hole,
The armies that go underground to give the world its coal.
They mine the gleaming anthracite to meet the need of men.
(Forests of ancient ages which are brought to light again).
They mine the soft bituminous, a million boilers burn,
Which keeps the wheels of industry forever on the turn.
Of all the life we live today they are the very soul,
The armies that go underground to give the world its coal.
Our trains that thunder overland, on rails of shining steel,
Our ships that travel over seas, on swift and steady keel,
The fire that warms our houses and the light that keeps them bright
Are spoils of all the battles that these peaceful soldiers fight!
So let the trump of triumph sound, they stand on honor's roll,
These armies that go underground to give the world its coal.
---
|