Up from the oven pit,
The hell where poor men toil,
At the sunset hour he comes
Clean-clothed, washed from soil.
On the fo'c' s'le head he kneels,
His face to the hallowed West.
He prays, and bows and prays.
Does he pray for death and rest?
Cookies on Poetry Cove
We use cookies to remember your language preference and — only with your consent — to learn how Poetry Cove is used. You can change your mind any time.
A MAHOMMADAN SHIP FIREMAN. · Francis William Lauderdale Adams · Poetry Cove