William Brown

"He bore the name of William Brown"-- His name, at least, did not go down With him that day He went the way Of certain death where duty lay.

He looked his fate full in the face-- He saw his watery resting-place Undaunted, and With firmer hand Held others' hopes in sure command.--

The hopes of full three hundred lives-- Aye, babes unborn, and promised wives! "The odds are dread," He must have said, "Here, God, is one poor life instead."

No time for praying overmuch-- No time for tears, or woman's touch Of tenderness, Or child's caress-- His last "God bless them!" stopped at "bless"--

Thus man and engine, nerved with steel, Clasped iron hands for woe or weal, And so went down Where dark waves drown All but the name of William Brown.