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Terrible loss of life in a coal mine


                      IN A

              COAL MINE.

On Tuesday March 12th, a Fearful Explosion took
place at Unity Brook Pit Kearsley, near Bolton,
causing immence destruction and loss of life.
43 men and boys were killed, 26 being married men,
who have left 26 Widows and 75 Orphans.

Down in the coal mine's dismal gloom,
Where many a man has met his doom,
Where heavens light is never seen,
Forty three colliers kill'd have been.
At Unity Brook near Bolton town,
The village of Kearsley stands around,
That little village is sad to-day,
Lamenting those who've pass'd away.

Widows mourn and children grieve,
Their dreadful loss can scarce believe,
Forty-three colliers strong and brave,
The Kearsley coal mine was their grave.

On Tuesday March the twelveth we find,
Their humble homes they left behind,
To labour for their daily bread,
But forty-three are with the dead.
The fiery-blast no warning gave,
A few We're told their lives did save,
The sound was heard above the ground,
And quickly spread dismay around.

Anxious wives and children too.
Around the pit in crowds they flew,
And trembling stood their fate to learn,
If their beloved ones would return.
The rescurers that fatal day,
Worked hard to clear thenselves away,
For to reach the men did nobly strive,
In hopes to find them still alive.

Heaven knows it must have been
A fearful and heart-rending scene,
Mutilated in every way
Forty-three poor colliers lay.
With faces burnt and poor limbs torn,
Their spirits that day to heaven had gone,
Hardly a moments time had they
Ere their dear lives were snatched away.

They brought the bodies above the ground
All the dead that they had found,
The old and young death did not spare,
There was no distinction there,
They now are laid beneath she sod,
Their souls we trust are with their God.
No one knew but One on high.
That in the grave so soon they'd lie.

Heaven help those that's left behind,
Who have lost a husband good and kind,
And little children who hardly know,
The sorrows they'll have to undergo.
Oh, think of those poor widow d wives,
The darkest hour in all their lives,
They'll never forget the fatal day.
When death took their dear ones away.

      John White, Printer, Rose Place,
          Scotland-road Liverpool,

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