The Army Of The Rear

I listened through the music and the sounds of revelry,
And all the hollow noises of that year of Jubilee;
I heard beyond the music and beyond the local cheer,
The steady tramp of thousands that were marching in the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
They seem to shake the air,
Those never-ceasing footsteps of the outcasts in the rear.

I heard defiance ringing from the men of rags and dirt,
I heard wan woman singing that sad Song of the Shirt,
And oer the sounds of menace and moaning low and drear,
I heard the steady tramping of their feet along the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Vibrating in the air,
Theyre swelling fast, those footsteps of the Army of the Rear!

I hate the wrongs I read about, I hate the wrongs I see!
The tramping of that army sounds as music unto me!
A music that is terrible, that frights the anxious ear,
Is beaten from the weary feet that tramp along the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
In dogged, grim despair,
They have a goal, those footsteps of the Army of the Rear!

I looked upon the nobles, with their lineage so old;
I looked upon their mansions, on their acres and their gold,
I saw their women radiant in jewelled robes appear,
And then I joined the army of the outcasts in the rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Well show what Want can dare,
My brothers and my sisters of the Army of the Rear!

I looked upon the mass of poor, in filthy alleys pent;
And on rich mens Edens, that are built on grinding rent;
I looked oer Londons miles of slums, I saw the horrors there,
And swore to die a soldier of the Army of the Rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Ive sworn to do and dare,
Ive sworn to die a soldier of the Army of the Rear!

Theyre brutes, so say the wealthy, and by steel must be dismayed,
Be brutes among us, nobles, they are brutes that ye have made;
We want what God hath given us, we want our portion here,
And that is why were marching, and well march beyond the rear!
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Awake and have a care,
Ye proud and haughty spurners of the wretches in the rear.

Well nurse our wrongs to strengthen us, our hate that it may grow,
For, outcast from society, societys our foe.
Beware! who grind out human flesh, for human life is dear!
Theres menace in the marching of the Army of the Rear.
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
Theres danger in despair,
Theres danger in the marching of the Army of the Rear!

The wealthy care not for our wants, nor for the pangs we feel;
Our hands have clutched in vain for bread, and now they clutch for steel!
Come, men of rags and hunger, come! Theres work for heroes here!
Theres room still in the vanguard of the Army of the Rear!
Tramp! tramp! tramp!
O men of want and care!
Theres glory in the vanguard of the Army of the Rear!

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

Marshall's Mate

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Writer's Dream

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

A Mixed Battle Song

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Queen Hilda Of Virland

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

My Army, O, My Army!

My Army, O, my army! The time I dreamed of comes!
I want to see your colours; I want to hear your drums!
I heard them in my boyhood when all mens hearts seemed cold;
I heard them as a Young Man, and I am growing old!
My army, O, my army! The signs are manifold!

My army, O, my army! My army and my Queen!
I used to sing your battle-songs when I was seventeen!
They came to me from ages, they came from far and near;
They came to me from Paris, they came to me from Here!,
They came when I was marching with the Army of the Rear.

My Queens dark eyes were flashing (oh, she was younger then!);
My Queens Red Cap was redder than the reddest blood of men!
My Queen marched like an Amazon, with anger manifest,
Her dark hair darkly matted from a knifegash in her breast
...

Henry Lawson

The Vanguard

They say, in all kindness, Im out of the hunt,
Too old and too deaf to be sent to the Front.
A scribbler of stories, a maker of songs,
To the fireside and armchair my valour belongs!
Yet in campaigns all hopeless, in bitterest strife,
I have been at the Front all the days of my life.

Oh, your girl feels a princess, your people are proud,
As you march down the street, midst the cheers of the crowd;
And the Nations behind you and cloudless your sky,
And you come back to Honour, or gloriously die;
While for each thing that brightens, and each thing that cheers,
I have starved in the trenches these forty long years.

The cities were silent, the people were glum,
No sound of a bugle, no tap of a drum;
Our enemies mighty and Parliaments sour,
Our Lands lov...

Henry Lawson

Booth's Drum

They were ratty they were hooted by the meanest and the least,
When they woke the Drum of Glory long ago in London East.
They were often mobbed by hoodlums, they were few, but unafraid,
And their Lassies were insulted, but they banged the drum, and prayed.
Prayed in public for the sinners, prayed in private for release,
Till they saved some brawny lumpers, then they banged the drum in peace.
(Saved some prize-fighter and burglars), and they banged the drum in peace.

Booths Drum.
He was hook-nosed, he was scrawny,
He was nothing of a Don.
And his business ways seemed Yiddish,
And his speeches kid, or kiddish;
And we doubted his convictions,
But his drum is going on.

Oh, they drummed it ever onward with old Blood-and-Fire unfurled,
And they drumm...

Henry Lawson

The Jolly Dead March

If I ever be worthy or famous,
Which Im sadly beginning to doubt,
When the angel whose place tis to name us
Shall say to my spirit, Pass out!
I wish for no snivlling about me
(My work was the work of the land),
But I hope that my country will shout me
The price of a decent brass band.

Thump! thump! of the drum and Ta-ra-rit,
Thump! thump! and the music, its grand,
If only in dreams, or in spirit,
To ride or march after the band!
And myself and my mourners go straying,
And strolling and drifting along
With a band in the front of us playing
The tune of an old battle song!

I ask for no turn-out to bear me;
I ask not for railings or slabs,
And spare me! my country, oh, spare me!
The hearse and the long string of cabs!
I as...

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

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