"In the Paroo country, the old swaggy came to the Bringabbie hut, weak and ill. He was alone and had no money to buy food. Endeavouring to preserve his fast-failing strength he was intent on one thing, to vote for the Labor candidate. 'I was to give Hughie a vote' he said. 'I suppose it will be my last.' but half his journey to the electorate was still to be travelled and his condition was desperate. 'I have knocked around these creeks this many a year.' he said 'an I could never get a vote; but I did get a vote this time and when I got it, I said this belongs to Hughie Langwell.' That night the man died, his name was Martin Farell. The only papers found on him were his Union ticket and a receipt for the suscription to the Broken Hill strike fund."

Our women shall walk in honor,
Our children shall know no chain,
This land that is ours forever
The invader shall strike at in vain.
Anzac! … Bapaume! … and the Marne! …
Could ever the old blood fail?
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.

So hail-fellow-met we muster,
And hail-fellow-met fall in,
Wherever the guns may thunder,
Or the rocketing “air mail” spin!
Born of the soil and the whirlwind,
Though death itself be the gale —
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.

We are the sons of Australia,
Of the men who fashioned the land,
We are the sons of the women
Who walked with them, hand in hand;
And we swear by the dead who bore us,
By the heroes who blazed the trail,
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.

— MARY GILMORE.

*Lyrics:

[Verse 1]
In South Australia I was born
Heave away, haul away
South Australia is my home
We're bound for South Australia

[Verse 2]
Now as I walked out one morning fair
Heave away, haul away
'Twas there I met miss Nancy Blair
We're bound for South Australia

[Chorus]
Haul away, you rolling kings
To me heave away, haul away
Haul away, you'll hear me sing
We're bound for South Australia

[Verse 3]
I shook her up, I shook her down
Heave away, haul away
I shook her round and round the town
We're bound for South Australia

[Verse 4]
There's just one thing that grieves my mind
Heave away, haul away
That's leaving Nancy Blair behind
We're bound for South Australia

[Verse 5]
And when we're walloping off Cape Horn
Heave away, haul away
You'd wish to God you'd never been born
We're bound for South Australia

[Verse 6]
I wish I was on Australia's strand
Heave away, haul away
With a bottle of whiskey in me hand
We're bound for South Australia*

"I am reckoned a horrid brute because I had not been cowardly enough to lie down for them under such trying circumstances, and insults to my people" - Ned Kelly

*You ask me to be gay and glad
While lurid clouds of danger loom,
And vain and bad and gambling mad,
Australia races to her doom.
You bid me sing the light and fair,
The dance, the glance on pleasure’s wings –
While you have wives who will not bear,
And beer to drown the fear of things.

A war with reason you would wage
To be amused for your short span,
Until your children’s heritage
Is claimed for China by Japan.
The football match, the cricket score,
The scraps, the tote, the mad’ning Cup –
You drunken fools that evermore
To-morrow morning sober up!

I see again with haggard eyes,
The thirsty land, the wasted flood;
Unpeopled plains beyond the skies,
And precious streams that run to mud;
The ruined health, the wasted wealth,
In our mad cities by the seas,
The black race suicide by stealth,
The starved and murdered industries!

You bid me make a farce of day,
And make a mockery of death;
While not five thousand miles away
The yellow millions pant for breath!
But heed me now, nor ask me this –
Lest you too late should wake to find
That hopeless patriotism is
The strongest passion in mankind!

You’d think the seer sees, perhaps,
While staring on from days like these,
Politeness in the conquering Japs,
Or mercy in the banned Chinese!
I mind the days when parents stood,
And spake no word, while children ran
From Christian lanes and deemed it good
To stone a helpless Chinaman.

I see the stricken city fall,
The fathers murdered at their doors,
The sack, the massacre of all
Save healthy slaves and paramours –
The wounded hero at the stake,
The pure girl to the leper’s kiss –
God, give us faith, for Christ’s own sake
To kill our womankind ere this.

I see the Bushman from Out Back,
From mountain range and rolling downs,
And carts race on each rough bush track
With food and rifles from the towns;
I see my Bushmen fight and die
Amongst the torn blood-spattered trees,
And hear all night the wounded cry
For men! More men and batteries!

I see the brown and yellow rule
The southern lands and southern waves,
White children in the heathen school,
And black and white together slaves;
I see the colour-line so drawn
(I see it plain and speak I must),
That our brown masters of the dawn
Might, aye, have fair girls for their lusts!

With land and life and race at stake –
No matter which race wronged, or how –
Let all and one Australia make
A superhuman effort now.
Clear out the blasting parasites,
The paid-for-one-thing manifold,
And curb the goggled social-lights
That scorch to nowhere with our gold.

Store guns and ammunition first,
Build forts and warlike factories,
Sink bores and tanks where drought is worst,
Give over time to industries.
The outpost of the white man’s race,
Where next his flag shall be unfurled,
Make clean the place! Make strong the place!
Call white men in from all the world!*

Henry Lawson
To Be Amused