Jason Michas - Midnight on the Great Western

In the third-class seat sat
The journeying boy.
And the roof-lamp's oily flame
Played down on his listless form and face,
Bewrapt past knowing to what he was going,
Or whence he came

In the band of his hat the journeying boy
Had a ticket stuck and a string
Around his neck bore the key of his box,
That twinkled gleams of the
Lamp's sad beams
Like a living thing.

What past can be yours, O journeying boy,
Towards a world unknown,
Who calmly, as if incurious quite
On all at stake, can undertake
This plunge alone?

Knows your soul a sphere, O journeying boy,
Our rude realms far above,
Whence with spacious vision
You mark and mete
This region of sin that you find you in,
But are not of?

Written by:
Thomas Hardy, Jason Michas

Publisher:
Lyrics © CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC

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