In Admirals' despatches their names are seldom heard;
They justify their being by more than written word;
In battle, toil and tempest and dangers manifold
The doughty deeds of small craft will never all be told.
Scant ease and scantier leisure—they take no heed of these,
For men lie hard in small craft when storm is on the seas;
A long watch and a weary, from dawn to set of sun—
The men who serve in small craft, their work is never done.
And if, as chance may have it, some bitter day they lie
Out-classed, out-gunned, out-numbered, with nought to do but die,