Page:McClure's Magazine volume 10.djvu/508

116 The channels are filled with uncouth shapes
 * That lurk below in the brine—

The force of fifty ships is there
 * In the sullen, sunken mine!

Tho' no orders come from the quarter-deck,
 * Hear the rip of the rapid-fire!

Full speed ahead, astern, or check,
 * At a spark from the semaphore wire!

And the ship she trembles from top to keel—
 * Tho' she rates twelve thousand tons!

And her scorched decks leap with a thundering throb
 * 'Neath the roar of her twelve-inch guns!

Dented and tortured and pierced, she stands
 * The blows on her ringing plates;

Grimy and black she signals back
 * To the flags of her fighting mates.

Hear the grinding crash from her armored prow,
 * Hear the rattling Colts from the mast?

Young Steel Flanks of the living Now
 * Is Old Ironsides of the past!

Oh, then here's to the men, where'er they be—
 * The men of steel and steam!

They're the same old stock from the parent block—
 * When they welcomed the wind abeam.

Tho' one shot may equal a broadside's weight,
 * One blow may decide the fight,

They serve their guns, they aim them straight,
 * And the Flag will be kept in sight!

The old captains bold—cocked hats and gold—
 * Were made for their country's hour,

And the Soul of the Ship proclaims the mold
 * Of the Mind in the conning tower!

Let us sing the song of Wind and Sail—
 * Brave deeds of the captains bold!

Never a name but was known to fame,
 * And was praised, in the days of old.

Let us sing the song of the armored ship,
 * With the ramming, roaring bow!

For the flag is the same, the men are the same—
 * 'Tis the song of Then and Now!