The Wood Pit Explosion, Haydock, Lancashire.

Weep Mothers, Weep o'er the loss of your dear ones,

The fathers and Children who are strewn amongst the dead,

The explosion has filled the whole district with sadness,

For homes that are lonely, and hearts that have bled.

My Partner is gone, and my children are missing -

Sobs a heartbroken Mother in agony wild,

Great God, can it be we are parted forever?

Shall I never more see my dear husband and child?

T'was but early this morning, they left put own dwelling,

Me thought they seemed happy, contented and free;

How he'd spend his Whit week my poor boy was telling,

As he bound away with his innocent glee.

He oft joined with youthful companions,

In the hedges and lanes, he delighted to roam,

It seems strange to me, that my poor lad had perished,

Whilst his bosom companions are happy at home.

My dear husband kissed the sweet lips of the baby,

In sorrow I think of it now in the past,

He bade us as usual a hearty good morning,

Nor thought for a moment it would be his last.

Last words and last actions are ever enduring,

We seldom forget what our dear ones have said,

Their last words and deeds, we treasure with fondness,

We refer to them oft, when our loved ones are dead.

We miss each bright face in the family circle,

At their absence our hearts are bowed in despair;

We miss our dear child, when we see other children,

And we weep O'er a father as we look at his chair.

The pace where they sat round the table is vacant,

Their friends and companions, they call to resign;

What prayers the dear mothers have breathed for their safety,

E'er the fathers and sons have descended the mine.

Though they are dead they still live in a mother's affection,

She prays, Oh Father look down on me

I trust you Thy Mercy in this hour of affliction,

For I read that though saved a thief on a tree.

Such conduct is worthy a wife and a mother,

Whose love and affection is ever the same,

She clings to her own where the heavens have darkened,

And she's faithful when enemies tarnished their flames.

There are sorrowing ones in the neighbourhood of Haydock,

God grant to them His help may be given,

Though the present be dark may Hope fill the bosom,

That at last they shall meet with their loved ones in Heaven.

Let us each give our mite in the cause of the widow,

To aid the poor orphans, there is room for each one;

If we give to the poor we lend to our Maker,

And to each willing helper He'll whisper, "Well done".