Onward flies the rushing train,
Now in sunshine, now in rain;
Now through pleasant banks we ride,
Now o'er fenland stretching wide.

Now it is a forest nook.
Now a village by a brook,
Now a tunnel, black as night,
Shutting all things from the sight.

Now through meadows green we sweep,
Now below a wooded steep,
Now by smoky hives of men,
Now through quiet fields again.

Still the fiery steeds obey,
Still we rattle on our way;
Now beneath the placid moon,
Silvering the woods of June.

Now beneath a wilder sky,
Where the moon rides fast and high;
Now through snowflakes on the blast,
To the lights of home at last.

Who is he that drives the train,
In the sunshine and the rain;
Weather-beaten, bluff and strong,
Hero worthy of a song?

Who more earnest, brave and true,
In the work he has to do?
First in danger, first in blame,
No man earns a nobler name.