In The Storm That Is To Come. (Henry Lawson)
Posted: Mon Jul 21, 2014 1:02 pm
By our place in the midst of the furthest seas we are faded to stand alone,
When the nations fly at each others throats, let Australia look to her own.
Let her spend her gold on the barren west, let her keep her men at home,
For the south must look to the south for strength in the storm that is to come.
Now who shall gallop from cape to cape, and who shall defend our shores,
The crowd that stand on the curb agape and glares at the cricket scores.
And who shall hold the invader back when the shells tear up the ground,
The weeds that yell by the cycling track while the nigger scorches round.
There may be many to man the forts in the big towns by the sea-
But the east will call to the west for scouts in the storm that is to be.
The west cries out to the east in drought, but the coastal towns are dumb,
And the east must look to the west for food, in the war that is to come.
The rain comes down in the western land and the rivers run to waste,
When the townsfolk rush for the special tram in their childish senseless haste,
And never a pile of a lock we drive but a few mean tanks we scratch-
For the fort of a nation is nought compared with the turn of a cricket match.
There's a gutter of mud where there spread a flood from the land long western creeks,
There is dust and drought in the land far out where the water lay for weeks,
There's a pitiful dam where a dyke should stretch and a tank where a lake should be,
And the rain goes down through the silt and sand and the floods waste into the sea.
I saw a vision in days gone by and would dream that dream again,
Of the days when the Darling shall not back her billabongs up in vain.
There were reservoirs and grand canals where the dry country had been,
And the glorious network of aqueducts, and the fields were always green.
I have seen so long in the land i love what the land i lave might be,
Where the Darling rises from Queensland rains and floods run into the sea.
And is it our fate that we'll wake to late to the truth that we were blind,
With the foreign foe at our harbour gate and a blazing drought behind.
Henry Lawson. (Australian Poet)
When the nations fly at each others throats, let Australia look to her own.
Let her spend her gold on the barren west, let her keep her men at home,
For the south must look to the south for strength in the storm that is to come.
Now who shall gallop from cape to cape, and who shall defend our shores,
The crowd that stand on the curb agape and glares at the cricket scores.
And who shall hold the invader back when the shells tear up the ground,
The weeds that yell by the cycling track while the nigger scorches round.
There may be many to man the forts in the big towns by the sea-
But the east will call to the west for scouts in the storm that is to be.
The west cries out to the east in drought, but the coastal towns are dumb,
And the east must look to the west for food, in the war that is to come.
The rain comes down in the western land and the rivers run to waste,
When the townsfolk rush for the special tram in their childish senseless haste,
And never a pile of a lock we drive but a few mean tanks we scratch-
For the fort of a nation is nought compared with the turn of a cricket match.
There's a gutter of mud where there spread a flood from the land long western creeks,
There is dust and drought in the land far out where the water lay for weeks,
There's a pitiful dam where a dyke should stretch and a tank where a lake should be,
And the rain goes down through the silt and sand and the floods waste into the sea.
I saw a vision in days gone by and would dream that dream again,
Of the days when the Darling shall not back her billabongs up in vain.
There were reservoirs and grand canals where the dry country had been,
And the glorious network of aqueducts, and the fields were always green.
I have seen so long in the land i love what the land i lave might be,
Where the Darling rises from Queensland rains and floods run into the sea.
And is it our fate that we'll wake to late to the truth that we were blind,
With the foreign foe at our harbour gate and a blazing drought behind.
Henry Lawson. (Australian Poet)
