--by B.F.W., found in The Bradford Era, 1883
All hail to thee, old
Bradford town!
Thou city of a world’s
renown;
I left thee several years
ago,
But now the place I’d
scarcely know.
I could not tell it with
the pen,
The magic change from now
and then;
The hand, likewise the
brain of man
Have shown their work
since they began,
Which sped like swallows
on the wing;
Hail, Bradford City, thou
art king!
I see new faces on the
street,
And quite content seem
those I meet;
I miss the bustle and the
din,
The surging mass when
trains come in;
Yet note the change on
every hand—
Where hovels were now
mansions stand.
Seek North or South or
East or West,
Thou art the envy of the
rest.
For this to thee thy
praise I sing—
Yes, Bradford City, thou
art king!
Amongst the sights that
please the eye,
I love the children
passing by;
They seem so happy, light
and gay,
As they return from school
each day.
The ladies (bless them)
dress so neat,
They smile (some flirt)
and look so sweet.
All things have changed—I
see the men
Wear better clothes than
they did then;
This is the change that
time did bring
To thee, for Bradford,
thou art king!
I view thy derricks gray
with age,
Which in thy history wrote
their page;
I hear no sound of nail or
drill,
Thy mountain sides, for
aye, are still.
Majestic’ly they all
look down,
The glory of thy work to
crown,
For enterprises, great and
small,
(No, not like oil, to
“rise and fall”)
Are springing up on every
side,
Thy paths of commerce open
wide;
And all around new
ventures spring
To herald Bradford, thou
art king!
Yes, years ago upon the
street
Excitement ran to fever
heat,
And drunkards, reeling by
the score,
It made one chill the way
they swore.
The refuse scum of all
mankind
Had centered here their
homes to find.
These things of evil could
not last,
Those days have gone,
those times are past;
So let the watchword
loudly ring—
Yes, Bradford City, thou
art king!
One thing I missed when
here before,
And which I see now by the
score—
These baby carriages (on
wheels),
Well loaded (with familiar
squeals).
Now you may smile—it
humors you;
So does it me – for I
have two.
And when the coil of years
rolls round,
And we’re all planted
underground,
Posterity will likewise
sing
That Bradford
City, thou art king!