IV

Stand by to reckon up your battleships

Ten, twenty, thirty, there they go.

Brag about your cruisers like Leviathans —

A thousand men a-piece down below.

But here's just one little Admiral

We're all of us his brothers and his sons,

And he's worth, O he's worth at the very least

Double all your tons and all your guns.

See them on the forebridge signalling —

A score of men a-hauling hand to hand,

And the whole fleet flying like the wild geese

Moved by some mysterious command.

Where's the mighty will that shows the way to them,

The mind that sees ahead so quick and clear?

He's there, Sir, walking all alone there —

The little man whose voice you never hear.

There are queer things that only come to sailormen;

They're true, but they're never understood;

And I know one thing about the Admiral,

That I can n't tell rightly as I should.

I've been with him when hope sank under us —

He hardly seemed a mortal like the rest,

I could swear that he had stars upon his uniform,

And one sleeve pinned across his breast.

Some day we're bound to sight the enemy,

He's coming, tho’ he has n't yet a name.

Keel to keel and gun to gun he'll challenge us

To meet him at the Great Armada game.

None knows what may be the end of it,

But we'll all give our bodies and our souls

To see the little Admiral a-playing him

A rubber of the old Long Bowls!