Thank you, fire-fighters, harnessing your hoses,
Busy at your pumps, or patiently at play:
Once upon a time we used to throw you roses;
You don't see quite such a cloud of them to-day.

Some of us remember the blitz and the burning,
The black-faced boys in the red and blue.
St. Paul's in peril, and the Hun returning,
The tanks all dry and the night half through.

When they sound the sirens, some of us are sleeping,
Some of us turn over, some of us complain:
But you are on the job still, we are in your keeping,
And one fine night we'll be glad of you again.*
January 30, 1944