But he, I hold, was braver, who ran his race alone,
No comrade's cheer to urge him on, no bugle blast was blown,
Nor grand review to follow if he should win the day;
But thoughts of self were all too weak his onward course to stay.
Spur up your steed, brave fellow—the flood is at his heels!
Too late! the waves now gird him round; the gallant rider reels;
Entombed beneath the debris his warning voice is stilled,
But he, I trust, ran not in vain; his mission is fulfilled.
Like Jesus, he saved others, yet would not save himself;
The plaudits of the world sought not, but scorned its praise and pelf.