Poems (Cook)/The Firemen of the Land
THE FIREMEN OF THE LAND.
England, thou art justly proud Of thy men so tried and brave;Well thy voice may boast aloud Of our Boatmen on the wave.Gallant fellows! well they grace British song and Hero story;They will take a foremost place When Valour counts her troops of glory.But our cities long have shown Those that match the Sailor band;Courage nobly claims her own In the Firemen of the Land.Give them Honour, give them Fame,A Health to hands that fight the Flame.
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.
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.