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Poem by William T. "Bill" Hoskinson 1861 - 1915
Date 1 Feb 1910
The Browder Disaster
(The explosion here described happened in the mines at Browder, Muhlenberg County, Kentucky on the morning of Feb. 1, 1910. Thirty-four lives were lost.)
When we look into the future, how uncertain is our view;
How weak our human powers to understand.
We reach to grasp the blushing rose, but if we only knew,
It May be but a thorn to pierce our hand.
We think we hear a joyful shout of merriment and fun;
Alas! it proved to be the cry of pain.
The greeting we expected when the toiler's work is done
May never come to cheer our eyes again.
Those men who died at Browder - O' how little did they think
As from their homes and little ones they trod,
Their hastening steps were leading them to death's brink -
That ere the turn of day they'd meet their God.
Their thoughts were of the things they hoped another day would bring.
The knew not that the spectre hovered near.
And fanned their happy faces with His weired and sable wing,
Or stooped to scream His message in their ear.
They were toiling there in darkness when the awful summons fell;
From the sight, O Holy Father, shield our eyes!
While the mind beholds its vision off the fiery pit of hell
And the raging tumult drowns the the wailing cries.
Blessed Father, send them mercy - Send it by Death's icy hand;
No other balm can soothe away their pain.
O, don't prolong this anquish while their angels shuddering stand,
And Pity stretches forth her arms in vain.
So tenderly we lay them down to their eternal sleep;
We plant the green acacia o'er their head;
For there are those behind them who upon their graves will weep
In memory of their conseceted dead.
The mother who so fondly leaned upon her manly son,
The wife whose earthly prop is swept away;
The prattling little infant who on eager feet would run
To meet its father at the close of day.
There is no "balm in Gilead" that can head the fatal sting.
There is no earthly price the debt to pay;
But even from those embers would some flowers of Eden spring
To cheer the stricken mourner on her way.
Those scorched and scanty flowers - is there one of Adam's race
Could snatch them from the widow's trembling hand?
Let not his name be mentioned, let it perish in disgrace!
But shudder for the honor of our land.
W. H. Hoskinson
Poem by William T. "Bill" Hoskinson 1861 - 1915
Date 1 Feb 1910
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