The Wreck of No. 9

On a cold winter night, not a star was in sight,
And the north wind was howling down the line,
With his sweetheart dear stood a brave engineer,
With his orders to pull old No. 9.

She kissed him good-bye with a tear in her eyes,
And the joy in his heart he could not hide;
For the whole world seemed bright as she promised that night
That tomorrow she’d be his blushing bride.

Oh, the wheels hummed a song as the train rolled along,
and the black smoke came pouring from the stack,
And the headlight agleam seemed to brighten his dream,
For tomorrow when he’d be coming back.

He sped ’round a hill and his brave heart stood still,
For a headlight was shining in his face.
He whispered a prayer as he jammed on the air,
For he knew this would be his final race.

In the wreck he was found lying there on the ground,
And he asked them to raise his weary head.
As his breath slowly vent this message he sent
To the maiden whom he thought he would wed:

“There’s a little white home that I bought for our own,
And I dreamed we’d be happy, you and I,
But I’ll leave it to you for I know you’ll be true
‘Till we meet at the Golden Gates. Good-bye.”

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