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Steer coolly, now, old mate—steer!
You hold their lives in your hand ; Through all, we'll pull; never fear
But we'll get the poor souls to land. Our boat is the queen of tight boats;
How well to that sea she rose? Nothing beats our beauty that floats;
Hurrah ! to the wreck she goes ! "
" To leeward ! I hear their cries :
That shout, it came up the gust. Steady all, men ! ah, there she lies ;
Pull under her lee, we must. Now, quick ; stand by with the coil !
Cool, cool, steady, mate! Now throw ! They have it! The sea may boil,
But safe to the shore they go. The children ! That woman first!
Wrap them alt! Thank God for those ! Now, in with the rest; The worst
Is past. Off to shore she goes ! "