A question Punch puts to the Public, and on your behalf, my brave lad,
And that of your labouring like. To accept your stout help we are glad:
If supply of cheap heroes should slacken, and life-saving valour grow dear—
Say as courts, party-statesmen, or churches—'twould make some exchequers look queer.
Do we quite do our part, we shore-goers? Those lights could not flash through the fog,
And how often must rescuer willing lie idle on land like a log
For lack of the warning of coast-wires from lighthouse or lightship? 'Tis flat
That we, lad, have not done our duty, until we have altered all that.
Well, you have done yours, and successfully, this time at least, and at night.
All rescued. How gladly the last must have looked on that brave "Comet Light,"