  Drop T itanic!—rightly named, sir"—says the captain of the ship,And all think as the captain thinks—all her two thousand souls As steadily out o'er the sea the stately vessel rolls. For she is shod with iron and her frame is built of oak, And stout hearts man the vessel, wherefore the captain spoke; And with naught for pleasure lacking, so stately and so fair, She seems a floating palace—fit for angels living there. So "farewell," says merry England, "farewell" says each green isle, "And blessings for this noble ship on her initial trial, And praise be to her makers, and good-will to her crew, And safety to her passengers"—take this as our adieu. O there were pleasant partings as the vessel sail'd away, And there was joy in every heart that pleasant April day, And there were happy thoughts of home—of meeting kith and kin, For the stately vessel soon would be her harbor safe within. And so blue the sky above them and so blue the wave beneath, That all,—all thought of living and no one thought of death, As, hour by hour, the vessel left England far behind, And, hour by hour, the ship sped on as speeds an ocean wind. And when night came, with fond good-nights the floating city slept, Yet ever o'er the rolling waves the mighty vessel swept, And no one thought of danger—until with thunderous roar, The great ship struck the rock-like ice, and shook from floor to floor. Then there was breaking timbers, and bulging plates of steel, And noise of great commotion along that vessel's keel— Then there were cries of anguish, and curses from rough men, And earnest prayers for safety—O prayers for safety then. For women wept in terror, and stout men drop'd a tear, And the shouting and the tumult was maddening to hear, Were set adrift at midnight—where cold sea-rivers run. Then, on that fated vessel, the thousand waited there In hope some sea-born sister would snatch them from despair, But no ship came to aid her, and, in the dead of night, The noble ship Titanic sank suddenly from sight. O midway in old ocean, in her darkest, deepest gloom, A thousand brave hearts bravely went down to meet their doom,— And what a tragic picture!—Oh, what a solemn sight Upon that fated vessel with the stars still shining bright! Then there was time for thinking—O time enough to spare, And there was time for cursing and time enough for pray'r,— Time,—time for retrospection, and time enough to die, Time, time for life's great tragedy—and time to reason why. That was the greatest battle that ever yet was fought; That was the greatest picture on any canvas wrought; That was the greatest lesson that mortal man can teach; That was the greatest sermon that priests of earth can preach. Yet no one fought that battle with saber or with gun, And no one saw that picture, save those brave hearts alone, And no one read that lesson there written in the dark, And no one heard that sermon that went straight to its mark. Nor shall we know their story, the saddest of the sea, Or shall we learn the sequel, the sorrow yet to be, But long shall we remember how brave men bravely died For some poor, lowly woman with a baby at her side. And when the world gets scorning the greatest of the great, When poverty sits cursing the man of large estate, O then let men remember, how, in that awful hour, The wealth of all the world was powerless in its power. |
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