“Thirty-four” swung out agleam, with her mighty, bounding team;
Horses’ honour pricked them on, and they leaped as at a goad;
Jimmy Calnan in his place, with his clean-cut Irish face,
Iron hands upon the reins, eyes astrain upon the road.
Clang! Clang! Quick to clear the way!
(Sweetly rang, above the clang, the bells of Christmas day.)
Tearing, plunging through the din, scarce a man can hold them in;
None on earth could pull them short: Mary Mother, guard from harm
Yonder woman straight ahead, stony-still with sudden dread,
And the little woman-child, with her waxen child in arm!