Of wailing dread at the grim pit’s head,
But along the wires was waft
A word from the junction signals,
“The Flying Scotchman’s through!
Clear the line; she’s late.” And the 12.48
Is ten minutes overdue!
I’ve hardly a second for thought, sir,
The 12.48’s in sight.
“Put steam, on, men, run her through, and then
We may still pull ye through all right.”