The Flagman

All day he stands beside the tracks

     Where thunders freight of fast express,

And waves his battered flag of white

     With patience and with faithfulness;

Or holds a warning hand on high

To those who fain would hurry by.

An unpretentious soul in jeans,

     Begrimed with dust from puffing stacks;

Beneath the thought or glance of those

     Who dance across the shining tracks;

All day he stands with watchful eye

To guard impatient passers by.

Ah! faithful flagman, at your post,

     Whose weekly wage is small indeed;

How well you guard the crossing there,

     How useful in the hour of need!

Few realize who pass you by:

The part you play in destiny.

July 5, 1914