Hark! high o'er the rattle and clamor and clatter
Of traffic-filled
streets, do you hear that loud noise?
And pushing and rushing to see what's
the matter,
Like herds of
wild cattle, go pell mell the boys.
There's a fire in the city! the engines
are coming!
The bold bells
are clanging, "Make way in the street!"
The wheels of the hose-cart are
spinning and humming
In time to the
music of galloping feet.
Make way there! make way there! the
horses are flying,
The sparks from
their swift hoofs shoot higher and higher,
The crowds are increasing--the gamins
are crying:
"Hooray, boys!"
"Hooray, boys!" "Come on to the fire!"
With clanging and banging and clatter
and rattle,
The long ladders
follow the engine and hose.
The men are all ready to dash into
battle;
But will they
come out again? God only knows.
At windows and doorways crowd questioning
faces;
There's something
about it that quickens one's breath.
How proudly the brave fellows sit
in their places--
And speed to the
conflict that may be their death.
Still faster and faster and faster
and faster
The grand horses
thunder and leap on their way.
The red foe is yonder and may prove
the master;
Turn out there,
bold traffic--turn out there, I say!
For once the loud truckman knows
oaths will not matter,
And reins in his
horses and yields to his fate.
The engines are coming! let pleasure
crowds scatter,
Let street car
and truckman and mail wagon wait.
They speed like a comet--they pass
in a minute,
The boys follow
on like a tail to a kite;
The commonplace street has but traffic
now in it,
The great fire
engines have swept out of sight.
Poems of Power by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey, 1902.
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