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.