J. Loye
How grand by night o’er the country side
Is that wild melodious strain;
And music blown at the eventide,
Is the song of the railroad train.
Its torn strains to our fireside trill
In the throes of the blizzard blown;
Or soar on high in the tempest rain,
So shrill, the song of the railroad train,
Oe’r the thunder’s loud detone.