Then—the wild moment came.
Fire and fear, and the rush, and the gush of the choking smoke;
Cries, and the hoarse command, and the engine’s clanging stroke;
Still, at the well-known call, in the wonted way,
Up and down, steady and swift,
Guion kept running the lift;
Many and many a life is his gift
That had else gone out that day.
How it billowed, the surge of black
On the delicate springtime sky!