Earth's mightiest isle. She stands alone. <br />The wide seas wash around Her throne, <br />Crowned by the red sun as his own. <br />This is the last of all the lands <br />Where Freedom’s fray-torn banner stands, <br />Not wrested yet from freemen’s hands. <br /> <br />The world’s gray page lies bare to-day— <br />The rise of nations—the decay. <br />Will She, too, rise—and fall as they? <br /> <br />She called men to Her, and they came, <br />Whose deaths have given the Desert name. <br />Their fame is written with Her fame. <br /> <br />We toil and strive. We have our hour. <br />But She shall grow from power to power, <br />To wear the splendour of her dower. <br /> <br />The trust is ours—to us alone. <br />We are the strong foundation-stone, <br />The seed from which the flower is grown. <br /> <br />And whilst a realm in fee we hold, <br />To guard the New against the Old, <br />Nor take the glitter for the gold, <br /> <br />What shall it profit Her if we <br />Make gold our God, and strength our plea, <br />And call wild license Liberty? <br /> <br />If, in our scorn of creed and king, <br />All reverence to the winds we fling, <br />And fall before a baser thing? <br /> <br />Though in Her coming hour of pride <br />Her millions throng the Desert wide, <br />Her cities stud the water side? <br /> <br />What though Her sword unconquered be, <br />Her armoured navies sweep the sea, <br />If still Her people are not free? <br /> <br />To be the wave of thought indeed <br />From New World vaunt and Old World need, <br />To manlier day and mightier deed? <br /> <br />To be a people proved and strong— <br />True freemen of the Poet’s song <br />For whom the world has waited long?<br /><br />George Essex Evans<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/australia-14/
