The rumble of the earth has died,
And weakened timber groans,
The screams that dying men had cried,
Are now replaced by moans

As dust and darkness fill the air,
He feels the pain of fear,
For Death does hang its ugly head,
Its breath is foul, and near

He hears a tapping somewhere close,
Within the rock and timber fall,
His hands began to dig and claw,
His voice to weak to call

How long he dug he could not tell,
But, the tapping drove him on,
And though his hands did bleed and swell
he could not stop, or slow

Then, suddenly, a hole appeared
within the wall of rock,
and an arm was thrust inside to grip
his trembling hand in shock

“My name is Jack”, a voice did drift
between the rocks they’d breached,
He told Jack his, and was asked his health
by the miner that he’d reached

“I’ll be alright”, was his reply
“if they can free us soon,
my legs are pinned here where I lie
and the pain does cloud my mind”

“Hang on, my friend,” came Jack’s reply
“for help is very near”,
Jack talked of help, to give him hope
and overcome his fear

It seemed like years had passed him by,
when searchers found the way,
and gentle hands did lift him out
of the mineshaft where he lay

And when he asked of his friend, Jack
their puzzlement was clear,
for he had been the last they found,
and no one else was near

Then glancing at the hand he’d held,
a tiny, wooden cross he found,
for God had been his ‘Jack’ that night
as he lay underground.