As It Was In The Beginning

As it was in the beginning, so well find it in the end,
For a lover, or a brother, or a sweetheart, or a friend;
As it was in the beginning, so well find it by-and-bye,
When weak women hug their babies, and strong men go out to die.

As tis written now, or spoken, so well find it yet in deed,
For their State, or for their Country, for their Honour or their Creed;
For the love of Right, or hatred for the Everlasting Lie,
When the women think of some things, and strong men go out to die.

As it used to be in past times, in the future so it must,
We shall find him stretching forward with his face down in the dust,
All his wounds in front, and hidden, blood to earth, and back to sky,
When pale women pray in private, and strong men go out to die.

Rebels all we are, and brothers, rebels to the laws we make,
Rich or poor, or fat or lean man, fighting for anothers sake;
It is all as God decreed it, we shall find it by-and-bye,
When our girls, disguised in boys clothes, go to die where strong men die.

Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson was an Australian writer and poet. Along with Banjo Paterson, he is among the best-known Australian poets and fiction writers of the colonial period and is often called Australia's 'greatest short story writer'. His works frequently document the lives and struggles of rural and outback Australians. Lawson's own life was marked by hardship and struggles including impaired hearing and financial difficulties, which influenced his realist depictions of Australian life. Some of his notable works include 'While the Billy Boils' and 'In the Days When the World was Wide.'

Henry Lawson

Song Of The Old Bullock-Driver

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

By Hut, Homestead And Shearing Shed,

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Drover's Sweetheart

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Flour Bin

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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The Star Of Australasia

We boast no more of our bloodless flag, that rose from a nation's slime;
Better a shred of a deep-dyed rag from the storms of the olden time.
From grander clouds in our `peaceful skies' than ever were there before
I tell you the Star of the South shall rise, in the lurid clouds of war.
It ever must be while blood is warm and the sons of men increase;
For ever the nations rose in storm, to rot in a deadly peace.
There comes a point that we will not yield, no matter if right or wrong,
And man will fight on the battle-field while passion and pride are strong,
So long as he will not kiss the rod, and his stubborn spirit sours,
And the scorn of Nature and curse of God are heavy on peace like ours.

There are boys out there by the western creeks, who hurry away from school
To climb the...

Henry Lawson

The Peace Maker

It has a point of neither sex
But comes in guise of both,
And, doubly dangerous complex,
It is a thing to loathe,
A lady with her sweet, sad smile,
A gentleman on oath.

Strip off the mother-veil, and fur!
And signs of quiet taste.
The dead childs locket take from her
(The dead mans gift in haste)
And wash from every evil line
The layers of filling paste!

From saddened eyes the hells own glare!
From sweet mouth blasphemy!
Wrench out the gold-filled false teeth there
That twice mock honesty,
And leave the evil face awry
For married folk to see.

For foolish girl wives in despair,
For mens and childrens sakes,
Let loose the glossed and padded hair
To writhe like scorching snakes!
And strip the barren bod...

Henry Lawson

Young Kings And Old

The Young King fights in the trenches and the Old King fights in the rear,
Because he is old and feeble, and not for a thought of fear.
The Young King fights for the Future, and the Old King fights for the Past,
The Young King is fighting his first fight and the Old King is fighting his last.

It is ever the same old battle, be the end of it Beer or Blood,
Or whether the rifles rattle, or whether a friend flings mud;
Or a foe to the rescue dashes, and the touch of a stranger thrills,
Or the Truth, or the bayonet flashes; or the Lie, or a bullet kills.

The young man strives to determine which are the truths or lies,
And the old man preaches his sermon, and he takes to his bed and dies;
And the parson is there, and the nurse is (or the bread is there and the wine),
And the so...

Henry Lawson

In The Day's When We Are Dead

Listen! The end draws nearer,
Nearer the morning, or night,
And I see with a vision clearer
That the beginning was right!
These shall be words to remember
When all has been done and said,
And my fame is a dying ember
In the days when I am dead.

Listen! We wrote in sorrow,
And we wrote by candle light;
We took no heed of the morrow,
And I think that we were right,
(To-morrow, but not the day after,
And I think that we were right).

We wrote of a world that was human
And we wrote of blood that was red,
For a child, or a man, or a woman,
Remember when we are dead.

Listen! We wrote not for money,
And listen! We wrote not for fame,
We wrote for the milk and the honey
Of Kindness, and not for a name.

We paused not...

Henry Lawson

Hymn Of The Reformers

By the bodies and minds and souls that rot in a common sty
In the citys offal-holes, where the dregs of its horrors lie;
By the prayers that bubble out, but never ascend to God,
We swear the tyrants of earth to rout with tongue and with pen and sword!

By the child that sees the light where the pestilent air stagnates,
And the woman worn and white who under the street-lamp waits;
By the horror of vice that thrives in the dens of the wretched poor,
We swear to strike when the time arrives for all that is good and pure.

By the rights that were always ours, the rights that we neer enjoyed,
And the gloomy cloud that lowers on the brows of the unemployed;
By the struggling mothers and wives and the girls on the streets of sin,
We swear to strike when the time arrives, for our ...

Henry Lawson

On The March

So the time seems come at last,
And the drums go rolling past,
And above them in the sunlight Labour's banners float and flow;
They are marching with the sun,
But I look in vain for one
Of the men who fought for freedom more than fifteen years ago.

They were men who did the work
Out at Blackall, Hay, and Bourke,
They were men who fought the battle that the world shall never know;
And they vanished one by one
When their bitter task was done,
Men who worked and wrote for freedom more than fifteen years ago.

Some are scattered, some are dead,
By the shanty and the shed,
In the lignum and the mulga, by the river running low;
And I often wish in vain
I could call them back again,
Mates of mine who fought for freedom more than fifteen years ago.

Henry Lawson