noon
But yet 't is good to hear of grief Which He permits to be ; Even as in our green inland home We talk of wrecks at sea . So on this lovely day , when spring Wakes soft o'er moor and dale , I 'll tell -- not quite your wish -- but yet A noble `` fairy '' tale . * * * * * 'T was six o'clock in the morning , The sea like crystal lay , When the good troop-ship Birkenhead Set sail from Simon 's Bay . The Cape of Good Hope on her right Gloomed at her through the noon : Brief tropic twilight fled , and night Fell suddenly and soon . At eight o'clock in the evening Dim grew the pleasant land ; O'er smoothest seas the southern heaven Its starry arch out-spanned . The soldiers on the bulwarks leaned , Smoked , chatted ; and below The soldiers ' wives sang babes to sleep , While on the ship sailed slow . Six hundred and thirty souls held she , Good , bad , old , young , rich , poor ; Six hundred and thirty living souls -- God knew them all .