Do you think, you slaves of a thousand years to poverty, wealth and pride, <br />You can crush the spirit that has been free in a land that's new and wide? <br />When you've scattered the last of the farmer bands, and the war for a while is over, <br />You will hold the land – ay, you'll hold the land – the land that your rifles cover. <br /> <br />Till your gold has levelled each mountain range where a wounded man can hide, <br />Till your gold has lighted the moonless night on the plains where the rebels ride; <br />Till the future is proved, and the past is bribed from the son of the land's dead lover – <br />You may hold the land – you may hold the land just as far as your rifles cover.<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/as-far-as-your-rifles-cover/
