A Song Of The Republic Poem by Henry Lawson

A Song Of The Republic

Rating: 2.7


Sons of the South, awake! arise!
Sons of the South, and do.
Banish from under your bonny skies
Those old-world errors and wrongs and lies.
Making a hell in a Paradise
That belongs to your sons and you.


Sons of the South, make choice between
(Sons of the South, choose true),
The Land of Morn and the Land of E'en,
The Old Dead Tree and the Young Tree Green,
The Land that belongs to the lord and the Queen,
And the Land that belongs to you.


Sons of the South, your time will come –
Sons of the South, 'tis near –
The "Signs of the Times", in their language dumb,
Fortell it, and ominous whispers hum
Like sullen sounds of a distant drum,
In the ominous atmosphere.


Sons of the South, aroused at last!
Sons of the South are few!
But your ranks grow longer and deeper fast,
And ye shall swell to an army vast,
And free from the wrongs of the North and Past
The land that belongs to you.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Teukros 10 September 2018

One day those of us down under shall realise Henry Lawson's dream and become a truly independent republic free from the anachronistic vestiges of old-world British colonialism. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but rest assured, Sons of the South, your time will come...

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Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson

Grenfell, New South Wales
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