IT is a pleasant thing to watch
The coalmen at their work;
They do not seem to mind the dark
Where many dangers lurk.
The braver of them goes below
Into the cellar black,
And calls out in a cheerful voice
To bring another sack.
The other grunts and groans a lot
Beneath his load of coal,
And down the ladder goes with care
Until he gains the hole.
He turns his burden upside down,
The inside rattles out,
And a delicious smell of coal
Gets everywhere about.
The braver one takes up his spade
And shovels it away;
The other wipes his shiny face,
And asks the time of day.
But it is very strange to me
That neither seems to want
To put the ladder down the hole
And climb down where I can't.
A man, they say, once broke his leg
By falling down a grating,
And nearly died for want of food,
Because they kept him waiting
A week before they pulled him out
And took him to his home,
From which he never more went forth
The London streets to roam.
But coalmen do not run these risks,
They have no nurse to frown,
So they might spend the whole long day
In climbing up and down.[I]
[I] They are silly not to.