Will H. Ogilvie


Lean brown limbs of the Brisbane beaches
Lithe-limbed kings of the Culgoa bends –
Princes that ride where the Roper reaches
Captains that camp where the grey Gulf ends –
Never such goodly men together
Marched since the kingdoms first made war
Nothing so proud as the Emu Feather
waved in an English wind before!
Ardour and faith of those keen brown faces!
Challenge and strength of those big brown hands!
Eyes that have flashed upon wide flung spaces!
Chins that have conquered in fierce far lands!
Flood could not daunt them; drought could not break them –
deep in their hearts is their sun’s own fire –
blood of thine own blood, England, take them!
These are the swords of thy soul’s desire!