From out the tale of fire and flame, The search for guilt, the fear of shame;
Here comes to solace human pride The tale how I and all girls died.
I ruled the girls for years and years, I heard their sorrows, joys and fears.
They brought to me their fun and strife, The homely things of working life.
With no child of my own to call; I filled that place to one and all
And gently mothered day by day The girls who worked beneath my sway.
When fire swept fast from floor to floor And smoke choked window, hall and door,
I, Nellie, took my post beside The stairway head- and calmly cried:
“There’s lots of time, don’t crowd about. There’s lots of time. You’ll all get out”
And each girl heard that voice ring clear: “This way. There’s lots of time, my dear.”