Joseph Skipsey (1832–1903)

MOTHER wept, and father sigh’d;

With delight aglow

Cried the lad, ‘To-morrow’, cried,

‘To the pit I go.’

Up and down the place he sped,—

Greeted old and young;

Far and wide the tidings spread;

Clapt his hands and sung.

Came his cronies; some to gaze

Wrapp’d in wonder; some

Free with counsel; some with praise;

Some with envy dumb.

‘May he’, many a gossip cried,

‘Be from peril kept.’

Father hid his face and sigh’d,

Mother turn’d and wept.