THE FIREMEN OF THE LAND.
When the red sheet winds and whirls
In the coil of frightful death;
When the banner'd smoke unfurls,
And the hot walls drink our breath;
When the far-off crowd appears
Choking in the demon glare,
And some helpless form uprears
In that furnace of despair;—
"Save, oh, save!" the people cry,
But who plucks the human brand?
Who will do the deed or die?
'Tis a Fireman of the Land.
Then give them Honour, give them Fame,
A Health to hands that fight the Flame.
In the coil of frightful death;
When the banner'd smoke unfurls,
And the hot walls drink our breath;
When the far-off crowd appears
Choking in the demon glare,
And some helpless form uprears
In that furnace of despair;—
"Save, oh, save!" the people cry,
But who plucks the human brand?
Who will do the deed or die?
'Tis a Fireman of the Land.
Then give them Honour, give them Fame,
A Health to hands that fight the Flame.
They who march to battle-field,
With the bullet and the sword;
They who go to take or yield
Life upon the crimson sward;
They who measure blade to blade;
They who offer shot for shot,
With a heart that's ne'er afraid,
With a courage free from blot;
Let such spirits ever live
Foremost in a nation's band,
But as noble rank we'll give
To the Firemen of the Land.
Then yield them Honour, give them Fame,
And drink to hands that fight the Flame.
With the bullet and the sword;
They who go to take or yield
Life upon the crimson sward;
They who measure blade to blade;
They who offer shot for shot,
With a heart that's ne'er afraid,
With a courage free from blot;
Let such spirits ever live
Foremost in a nation's band,
But as noble rank we'll give
To the Firemen of the Land.
Then yield them Honour, give them Fame,
And drink to hands that fight the Flame.
373
