“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.