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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408537" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Song of Brave Men</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Man, is the Sea your master? Sea, and is man your slave? – <br>This is the song of brave men who never know they are brave: <br>Ceaselessly watching to save you, stranger from foreign lands, <br>Soundly asleep in your state room, full sail for the Goodwin Sands! <br>Life is a dream, they tell us, but life seems very real, <br>When the lifeboat puts out from Ramsgate, and the buggers put out from Deal! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A gun from the lightship! – a rocket! – a cry of, "Turn out, me lad!" <br>"Ship on the Sands!" they're shouting, and a rush of the oilskin-clad. <br>The lifeboat leaping and swooping, in the wake of the fighting tug, <br>And the luggers afloat in Hell's water – Oh, "tourist", with cushion and rug! – <br>Think of the freezing fury, without one minute's relief, <br>When they stood all night in the blackness by the wreck of the Indian Chief! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lashed to their seats, and crouching, to the spray that froze as it flew, <br>Twenty-six hours in midwinter! That was the lifeboat's crew. <br>Twice she was swamped, and she righted, in the rush of the heavy seas, <br>And her tug was mostly buried; but these were common things, these. <br>And the luggers go out whenever there's a hope to get them afloat, <br>And these things they do for nothing, and those fishermen say, "Oh! it's nowt!" </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Enemy, Friend or Stranger! In every sea or land, <br>And across the lives of most men run stretches of Goodwin Sand; <br>And across the life of a nation, as across the track of a ship, <br>Lies the hidden rock, or the iceberg, within the horizon dip. <br>And wise men know them, and warn us, with lightship, or voice, or pen; <br>But we strike, and the fool survivors sail on to strike again.) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But this is a song of brave men, wherever is aught to save, <br>Christian or Jew or Wowser – and I knew one who was brave; <br>British or French or German, Dane or Latin or Dutch: <br>"Scandies" that ignorant British reckon with "Dagoes and such" – <br>(Where'er, on a wreck titanic, in a scene of wild despair, <br>The officers call for assistance, a Swede or a Norse is there.) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Tale of a wreck titanic, with the last boat over the side, <br>And a brave young husband fighting his clinging, hysterical bride; <br>He strikes her fair on the temple, while the decks are scarce afloat, <br>And he kisses her once on the forehead, and he drops her into the boat. <br>So he goes to his death to save her; and she lives to remember and lie – <br>Or be true to his love and courage. But that's how brave men die. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">(I hate the slander: "Be British" – and I don't believe it, that's flat: <br>No British sailor and captain would stoop to such cant as that. <br>What – in the rush of cowards – of the help from before the mast – <br>Of the two big Swedes and the Norse, who stood by the mate to the last? – <br>In every mining disaster, in a New-World mining town, <br>In one of the rescue parties an Olsen or Hans goes down.) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Men who fought for their village, away on their country's edge: <br>The priest with his cross – and a musket, and the blacksmith with his sledge; <br>The butcher with cleaver and pistols, and the notary with his pike. <br>And the clerk with what he laid hands on; but all were ready to strike. <br>And – Tennyson notwithstanding – when the hour of danger was come, <br>The shopman has struck full often with his "cheating yard-wand" home! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">This is a song of brave men, ever, the wide world o'er – <br>Starved and crippled and murdered by the land they are fighting for. <br>Left to freeze in the trenches, sent to drown by the Cape, <br>Throttled by army contractors, and strangled bv old red-tape. <br>Fighting for "Home" and "Country", or "Glory", or what you choose – <br>Sacrificed for the Syndicates, and a monarch "in" with the Jews. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Australia! your trial is coming! Down with the party strife: <br>Send Your cackling, lying women back to the old Home Life. <br>Brush trom your Parliament benches the legal chaff and dust: <br>Make Federation perfect, as sooner or later you must. <br>Scatter your crowded cities, cut up your States – and so <br>Give your brave sons of the future the ghost of a White Man's show.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Henry+Lawson">Henry Lawson</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=408537" data-title="A Song of Brave Men de Henry Lawson" data-description="Man, is the Sea your master? Sea, and is man your slave? – This is the song of brave men who never know they are brave: Ceaselessly watching to save you, stranger from foreign lands, Soundly asleep in your state room, full sail for the Goodwi..."></div> </div> </div>
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