Swing round the motor cars to where The tall Australia stands--The female bronzes light you there To take the ladies' hands--And from your silver sovereign case Slip out the careless gold--The gay world, for a little space, Is yours to have and hold.
Our home, it is a bonny place, The hills and bush are near,And picnic parties camp along The water frontage here.Our guardian is a kindly man, To comfort and forgive--For three of us are doomed to die, And one is doomed to live.
There's one of us--our hope and joy-- Who'd thirty years of strife;He thinks he is a "naughty boy", And plays the part to life.There's one who cannot read or write, Yet studied ancient bards--He seeks his fortune all day long From endless rows of cards.
So "grind" to win your high degrees While runs the new world round,And win the Chair! You'll not be sunk In wisdom more profoundThan some of us. We're from all schools-- One's an M.D. Alas!--We bachelors, but not of Arts, And widowers--of Dried Grass.
We've fought the merry fight where gaps In firing lines grow wide(And one of us is doomed to live To tell how others died).And one of us is doomed to grow In gruesome terror old--One, breathing, died two years ago, And so the tale is told.
So prattle through your four o 'clocks And Thursday afternoons,And never read the thing that shocks, But toy with silver spoons,And show your arms, so fair and white, And coo and smile to please:But I could write of things to-night Would give you little ease.
We four can jest at little things, We worry not at all;We're mortals whom the mills of God Have ground exceeding small.There's one who'd, with his latest breath, Keep black Depression out,And he is doomed to die the death We dare not write about.
There's one who never lifts his eyes And ne'er a word has said--Our living dead lies still in bed Till he is changed and fed.There's one of whom the Fear is set The jail presentiment;Undrugged, he's never rested yet, And--he is innocent.
So lie abed, ye gentlemen, And rest, ye ladies too,While servants trained in voice and step Bring breakfast in to you.Then seek the Stock Exchange or Course, The ball, or grand hotel--There's space for many and many a bed In wards where we folk dwell.
The trained attendants glide about To tend the "paying guests";They drug the night with sleeping draughts, We pass the day with jests--Or brood or rave--or mouth and grin-- Or think and ply the pen--For some of us are First, and some Third Generation men.
Some pray all day who never prayed And rise to no command(Ah! this, my children, is a song That doctors understand).We are the scapegoats of the world, The wrongs the world shall rue;We're Freethinkers and Atheists Who found the Bible true.
So speed your flying cars and build Your mansions strong and tall--Be sure the mills of God will find And grind exceeding small.Though Man or Nation or the World May dream and rave and doubt--Ah, God! the words are true. Be sure Thy sins shall find thee out.