When the kindly hours of darkness, save for light of moon and star, <br />Hide the picture on the signboard over Doughty's Horse Bazaar; <br />When the last rose-tint is fading on the distant mulga scrub, <br />Then the Army prays for Watty at the entrance of his pub. <br /> <br />Now, I often sit at Watty's when the night is very near, <br />With a head that's full of jingles and the fumes of bottled beer, <br />For I always have a fancy that, if I am over there <br />When the Army prays for Watty, I'm included in the prayer. <br /> <br />Watty lounges in his arm-chair, in its old accustomed place, <br />With a fatherly expression on his round and passive face; <br />And his arms are clasped before him in a calm, contented way, <br />And he nods his head and dozes when he hears the Army pray. <br /> <br />And I wonder does he ponder on the distant years and dim, <br />Or his chances over yonder, when the Army prays for him? <br />Has he not a fear connected with the warm place down below, <br />Where, according to good Christians, all the publicans should go? <br /> <br />But his features give no token of a feeling in his breast, <br />Save of peace that is unbroken and a conscience well at rest; <br />And we guzzle as we guzzled long before the Army came, <br />And the loafers wait for `shouters' and -- they get there just the same. <br /> <br />It would take a lot of praying -- lots of thumping on the drum -- <br />To prepare our sinful, straying, erring souls for Kingdom Come; <br />But I love my fellow-sinners, and I hope, upon the whole, <br />That the Army gets a hearing when it prays for Watty's soul.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/when-the-army-prays-for-watty/