A Song of the Republic
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.
Henry Lawson's Other Poems
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
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(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(27 November 1907 – 18 January 2003)
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