Then amidst oath, and prayer, and rush, and wreck,
Faint screams, faint questions waiting no reply,
Our Colonel gave the word, and on the deck
Form'd us in line to die.
To die!--'twas hard, while the sleek ocean glow'd
Beneath a sky as fair as summer flowers:
"_All to the Boats!_" cried one--he was, thank God,
No officer of ours.
Our English hearts beat true--we would not stir:
That base appeal we heard, but heeded not:
On land, on sea, we had our Colours, sir,
To keep without a spot.
They shall not say in England, that we fought
With shameful strength, unhonour'd life to seek;
Into mean safety, mean deserters, brought
By trampling down the weak.
So we made the women with their children go,
The oars ply back again, and yet again;
Whilst, inch by inch, the drowning ship sank low,
Still, under steadfast men.
----What follows, why recall?--The brave who died,
Died without flinching in the bloody surf,
They sleep as well beneath that purple tide
As others under turf.
They sleep as well! and, roused from their wild grave,
Wearing their wounds like stars, shall rise again,
Joint heirs with Christ, because they bled to save
His weak ones, not in vain.
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