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<h3>IN THE PIT.<br/> “<span class="smcap">chant of the firemen</span>.”</h3>
<p class="poetry">“This is the steamer’s pit.<br/>
The ovens like dragons of fire<br/>
Glare thro’ their close-lidded eyes<br/>
With restless hungry desire.</p>
<p class="poetry">“Down from the tropic night<br/>
Rushes the funnelled air;<br/>
Our heads expand and fall in;<br/>
Our hearts thump huge as despair.</p>
<p class="poetry">“’Tis we make the bright hot
blood<br/>
Of this throbbing inanimate thing;<br/>
And our life is no less the fuel<br/>
Than the coal we shovel and fling.</p>
<p class="poetry">“And lest of this we be proud<br/>
Or anything but meek,<br/>
We are well cursed and paid—<br/>
Ten shillings a week!”</p>
<p class="poetry"><i>Round</i>, <i>round</i>, <i>round in its
tunnel</i><br/>
<i>The shaft turns pitiless strong</i>,<br/>
<i>While lost souls cry out in the darkness</i>:<br/>
“<i>How long</i>, <i>O Lord</i>, <i>how
long</i>?”</p>
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