Peal upon the startled city
The terrific cry of “Fire!”
O’er the child’s face, wan and weary,
Comes a quick flush of delight,
As she marks a lofty steeple
Wreathed in spires of lurid light.
Onward with the hurrying crowd
Pressed the child through wind and storm,
With one thought to cheer her bosom,—
She would once again be warm.