I

Work , work, work,
Down in the ship's deep hold.
Was there a man would shirk?
They of the tale untold;
Down by the hot flames fanned,
Theirs was the cruel part;
They of the tireless hand,
They of the dauntless heart!

II

" Boys! we must keep her straight,
She is a gallant boat,
Worthy a better fate,
Finest of all afloat —
Now, as the Wireless Call
Sweeps the encircling sea,
Here in this prisoned wall
It's up to you and me! "

III

Work, work, work,
Water is creeping higher,
Was there a man would shirk?
Engines must have their fire.
Up on the ship's great deck
Many are careless still,
They, in the deep hold's wreck,
Work with an iron will.

IV

Knowing they have no hope
When she must list and lunge,
Never a piece of rope,
Theirs is a fettered plunge, —
Fires are out, — and cold
Rises the fluent fear, —
Here's to the tale untold,
Here's to the Engineer!