The Last Light on the Line

Roll on, roll on, through the pine,
Last light on the mountain line.
Round the ridge and through the rain,
Who still rides that long-lost train?
When the valley's fast asleep,
What old promise do you keep?

They built that bridge the summer after.
The trains began again.
I grew to take the throttle
On the line that carried him.
I've hauled the mail through summer storms
And crawled these rails through snow.
But nothing in those working years
Prepared me for that glow.

One night, while hauling passengers,
I rounded Laurel Bend.
Another train was on my track,
Its taillight just ahead.
I slowed and watched its wooden cars
Wind down toward the creek.
No smoke rose from the engine,
And I heard no whistle speak.

A man stepped out the rearmost door,
His lantern burning red.
He swung it hard from side to side,
A warning up ahead.
Then turning back, he raised the lamp;
It lit his face through rain.

My father's eyes looked back at me.
I set the brakes and prayed.

I stopped and took my lantern down.
The train ahead was gone.
Beyond the engine, empty rails
Hung where the bridge belonged.

Behind me in the sleeping car,
A baby stirred and cried.
I stood above that roaring creek
And knew he'd saved our lives.

At dawn they asked what made me stop
Before the washed-out span.
I told them of a signal light;
I didn't name the man.

They wrote that I had saved the train;
I signed and let it stand.
But every soul got home that night
Because he raised his hand.

Roll on, roll on, through the pine,
Last light on the mountain line.
Round the ridge and through the rain,
Now I know who rides that train.
While the valley lies asleep,
You still have a watch to keep.
Somewhere round the next dark bend,
His lantern's burning bright.

My father's been gone thirty years,
But he's still working nights.

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Daddy worked the Briar Ridge, Rode the last car down. He'd wave his lamp above the creek Before they reached our town. One spring the water took the bridge; They found his coat downstream. For thirty years, that mountain kept His whistle in my dreams. Roll on, roll on, through the pine, Last light on the mountain line. Round the ridge and through the rain, Who still rides that long-lost train? When the valley's fast asleep, What old promise do you keep? They built that bridge the summer after. The trains began again. I grew to take the throttle On the line that carried him. I've hauled the mail through summer storms And crawled these rails through snow. But nothing in those working years Prepared me for that glow. One night, while hauling passengers, I rounded Laurel Bend. Another train was on my track, Its taillight just ahead. I slowed and watched its wooden cars Wind down toward the creek. No smoke rose from the engine, And I heard no whistle speak. A man stepped out the rearmost door, His lantern burning red. He swung it hard from side to side, A warning up ahead. Then turning back, he raised the lamp; It lit his face through rain. My father's eyes looked back at me. I set the brakes and prayed. I stopped and took my lantern down. The train ahead was gone. Beyond the engine, empty rails Hung where the bridge belonged. Behind me in the sleeping car, A baby stirred and cried. I stood above that roaring creek And knew he'd saved our lives. At dawn they asked what made me stop Before the washed-out span. I told them of a signal light; I didn't name the man. They wrote that I had saved the train; I signed and let it stand. But every soul got home that night Because he raised his hand. Roll on, roll on, through the pine, Last light on the mountain line. Round the ridge and through the rain, Now I know who rides that train. While the valley lies asleep, You still have a watch to keep. Somewhere round the next dark bend, His lantern's burning bright. My father's been gone thirty years, But he's still working nights.

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