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.