Worthy indeed this ship shall be to float thy flag on high.
Fanned by the breath of a South Sea breeze, kissed by the foam-flecked spray,
Did ever a child of War awake as this one wakes to-day?
We bargain not in windy words, and not in idle boast,
We speed her sliding down the slip, and make her name a toast.
Remember ye that gaunt, grey wreck on Cocos’ barren rocks [Emden],
Where seagulls pick the whitened bones around the old sea-fox.
Another link in the steel-strong chain which holds us heart to heart,
Another hound slipped from the leash to play a winning part;
Her flag is broken to the wind, her steel has met the sea—