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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415699" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Brunton Stephens</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dedicated by special permission to Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">We cried, “How long!” We sighed, “Not yet;”<br>And still with faces dawnward set<br>“Prepare the way,” said each to each,<br>And yet again, “Prepare,” we said;<br>And toil, re-born of resolute speech,<br>Made straight the path her feet should tread:—<br>Now triumph, faithful hands and steadfast wills,<br>For, lo! whose pomp the bannered Orient fills?<br>Whose feet are these upon the morning hills?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell, Sweet Faith! thy silver ray<br>Now dies into the golden day.<br>Farewell, Bright Dream, by minstrels sung!<br>For She whom all our dreams foreran<br>Has leaped to life, a Pallas sprung<br>Consummate from the brain of man,<br>Whom now we hail in mortal guise and gait,<br>Thought clothed with flesh, partaker of our state,<br>Made corporal in us now corporate!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, now we know the long delay<br>But served to assure a prouder day,<br>For while we waited came the call<br>To prove and make our title good—<br>To face the fiery ordeal<br>That tries the claim to Nationhood—<br>And now in pride of challenge we unroll,<br>For all the world to read, the record-scroll<br>Whose bloody script attests a Nation's soul.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O ye, our Dead, who at the call<br>Fared forth to fall as heroes fall,<br>Whose consecrated souls we failed<br>To note beneath the common guise<br>Till all-revealing Death unveiled<br>The splendour of your sacrifice,<br>Now, crowned with more than perishable bays,<br>Immortal in your country's love and praise,<br>Ye, too, have portion in this day of days!<br> <br>And ye who sowed where now we reap,<br>Whose waiting eyes, now sealed in sleep,<br>Beheld far off with prescient sight<br>This triumph of rejoicing lands—<br>Yours, too, the day! for though its light<br>Can pierce not to your folded hands,<br>These shining hours of advent but fulfil<br>The cherished purpose of your constant will,<br>Whose onward impulse liveth in us still.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Still lead thou vanward of our line,<br>Who, shaggy, massive, leonine,<br>Could'st yet most finely phrase the event—<br>For if a Pisgah view was all<br>Vouchsafed to thine uncrowned intent,<br>The echoes of thy herald-call<br>Not faintlier strive with our saluting guns,<br>And at thy words through all Australia's sons<br>The “crimson thread of kinship” redder runs.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But not the memory of the dead,<br>How loved so'er each sacred head,<br>To-day can change from glad to grave<br>The chords that quire a Nation born—<br>Twin offspring of the birth that gave,<br>When yester-midnight chimed to morn,<br>Another age to the Redeemer's reign,<br>Another cycle to the widening gain<br>Of Good o'er Ill and Remedy o'er Pain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Our sundering lines with love o'ergrown,<br>Our bounds the girdling seas alone—<br>Be this the burden of the psalm<br>That every resonant hour repeats,<br>Till day-fall dusk the fern and palm<br>That forest our transfigured streets,<br>And night still vibrant with the note of praise<br>Thrill brother-hearts to song in woodland ways,<br>When gum-leaves whisper o'er the camp-fire's blaze.<br>* * * * *<br>The Charter's read: the rites are o'er;<br>The trumpet's blare and cannon's roar<br>Are silent, and the flags are furled;<br>But so not ends the task to build<br>Into the fabric of the world<br>The substance of our hope fulfilled—<br> <br>To work as those who greatly have divined<br>The lordship of a continent assigned<br>As God's own gift for service of mankind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O People of the onward will,<br>Unit of Union greater still<br>Than that to-day hath made you great,<br>Your true Fulfilment waiteth there,<br>Embraced within the larger fate<br>Of Empire ye are born to share—<br>No vassal progeny of subject brood,<br>No satellite shed from Britain's plenitude,<br>But orbed with her in one wide sphere of good!<br>* * * * *<br>O Lady, in whose sovereign name<br>The crowning word of Union came<br>That sheds upon thine honoured age<br>The glory of a rising light,<br>Across our record's earliest page,<br>Its earliest word, thy name we write . . .<br>Symbol, Embodiment, and Guarantee<br>Of all that makes us and maintains us free,<br>Woman and Queen, God's grace abide with thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Brunton+Stephens">James Brunton Stephens</a><div class=q>
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<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=415699" data-title="Brunton Stephens de James Brunton Stephens" data-description="Dedicated by special permission to Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria.

We cried, “How long!” We sighed, “Not yet;”
And still with faces dawnward set
“Prepare the way,” said each to each,
And yet again, “Prepare,” we said;
An..."></div>
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