The Far Future

Australia, advancing with rapid winged stride,
Shall plant among nations her banners in pride,
The yoke of dependence aside she will cast,
And build on the ruins and wrecks of the Past.
Her flag on the tempest will wave to proclaim
Mong kingdoms and empires her national name;
The Future shall see it, asleep or unfurld,
The shelter of Freedom and boast of the world.

Australia, advancing like day on the sky,
Has glimmerd thro darkness, will blazon on high,
A Gem in its glitter has yet to be seen,
When Progress has placed her where England has been;
When bursting those limits above she will soar,
Outstretching all rivals whove mounted before,
And, resting, will blaze with her glories unfurld,
The empire of empires and boast of the world.

Australia, advancing with Power, will entwine
With Honour and Justice a Mercy divine;
No Despot shall trample no slave shall be bound
Oppression must totter and fall to the ground.
The stain of all ages, tyrannical sway,
Will pass like a flash or a shadow away,
And shrink to nothing neath thunderbolts hurld
From the hand of the terror the boast of the world.

Australia, advancing with rapid wingd stride,
Shall plant among nations her banners in pride;
The yoke of dependence aside she will cast,
And build on the ruins and wrecks of the Past.
Her flag in the tempest will wave to proclaim,
Mong kingdoms and empires her national name,
And Ages shall see it, asleep or unfurld
The shelter of Freedom and boast of the world.

Henry Kendall

Henry Kendall was an Australian poet born on April 18, 1839, known for his lyrical and descriptive poetry reflecting the natural world and the colonial experience of Australia. He faced personal and financial difficulties throughout his life, which deeply influenced his works. His poetry collections include 'Leaves from Australian Forests' and 'Songs from the Mountains'. Kendall passed away on August 1, 1882, leaving a lasting impact on Australian literature.

Henry Kendall

A Living Poet

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

Camped by the Creek

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

Caroline Chisholm

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

The Fate of the Explorers (A Fragment)

Henry Kendall, Simple Poetry

English

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Australia! land of lonely lake
And serpent-haunted fen;
Land of the torrent and the fire
And forest-sundered men:
Thou art not now as thou shalt be
When the stern invaders come,
In the hush before the hurricane,
The dread before the drum.

A louder thunder shall be heard
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When oer the blackened basalt cliffs
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When heroes fall for thee,
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When under honeysuckles gray,
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The stalwart arm may strike no more,
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How dazzling the sunbeams awoke on the spray,
When Australia first rose in the distance away,
As welcome to us on the deck of the bark,
As the dove to the vision of those in the ark!
What fairylike fancies appeard to the view
As nearer and nearer the haven we drew!
What castles were built and rebuilt in the brain,
To totter and crumble to nothing again!

We had roamd oer the ocean had traversd a path,
Where the tempest surrounded and shriekd in its wrath:
Alike we had rolld in the hurricanes breath,
And slumberd on waters as silent as death:
We had watchd the Day breaking each morn on the main,
And had seen it sink down in the billows again;
For week after week, till disheartend we thought
An age would elapse ere we enterd the port.

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Henry Kendall

The Song Of Australia

The centuries found me to nations unknown,
My people have crowned me and made me a throne;
My royal regalia is love, truth, and light,
A girl called Australia, I've come to my right.

Though no fields of conquest grew red at my birth,
My dead were the noblest and bravest on earth;
Their strong sons are worthy to stand with the best,
My brave Overlanders ride west of the west.

My cities are seeking the clean and the right;
My Statesmen are speaking in London to-night;
The voice of my Bushmen is heard oversea;
My army and navy are coming to me.

By all my grim headlands my flag is unfurled,
My artists and singers are charming the world;
The White world shall know its young outpost with pride;
The fame of my poets goes ever more wide.

By old...

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The Melbourne International Exhibition

I

Brothers from far-away lands,
Sons of the fathers of fame,
Here are our hearts and our hands
This is our song of acclaim.
Lords from magnificent zones,
Shores of superlative sway,
Awful with lustre of thrones,
This is our greeting to-day.
Europe and Asia are here
Shining they enter our ports!
She that is half of the sphere
Beams like a sun in our courts.
Children of elders whose day
Shone to the planets white ends,
Meet, in the noble old way,
Sons of your forefathers friends.



II

Dressed is the beautiful city the spires of it
Burn in the firmament stately and still;
Forest has vanished the wood and the lyres of it,
Lutes of the sea-wind and harps of the hill.
This is the region, and here is the bay...

Henry Kendall

Australian War Song

Men have said that ye were sleeping
Hurl, Australians, back the lie;
Whet the swords you have in keeping,
Forward stand to do or die!
Hear ye not, across the ocean,
Echoes of the distant fray,
Sounds of loud and fierce commotion,
Swiftly sweeping on the way?
Hearts have woke from sluggish trances,
Woke to know their native worth;
Freedom with her train advances
Freedom newly sprung to birth.
Despots start from thrones affrighted
Tyrants hear the angry tread;
Where the slaves, whose prayers were slighted,
Marching draw the sword instead.

If the men of other nations
Dash their fetters to the ground;
When the foeman seeks your stations,
Will you willing slaves be found?
You the sons of hero fathers
Sires that bled at Waterloo!
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Sydney Harbour

Where Hornby, like a mighty fallen star,
Burns through the darkness with a splendid ring
Of tenfold light, and where the awful face
Of Sydneys northern headland stares all night
Oer dark, determined waters from the east,
From year to year a wild, Titanic voice
Of fierce aggressive sea shoots up and makes,
When storm sails high through drifts of driving sleet,
And in the days when limpid waters glass
Decembers sunny hair and forest face,
A roaring down by immemorial caves,
A thunder in the everlasting hills.

But calm and lucid as an English lake,
Beloved by beams and wooed by wind and wing,
Shut in from tempest-trampled wastes of wave,
And sheltered from white wraths of surge by walls
Grand ramparts founded by the hand of God,
The lordly Harbour g...

Henry Kendall