When the smoke of Battle rises from the Old Land
        You shall see the Tyrant down! 
        You shall see her lifted crown
    Wears another peerless jewel won with bold hand;
        She shall thresh her foes like corn,
        They shall eat the bread of scorn;
    We will sing her song of triumph in the Gold Land.

    Quaff a cup and send a cheer up for the Old Land! 
        We have heard the Reapers shout
        For the Harvest going out,
    Seen the smoke of battle closing round the bold Land;
        And our answer shall be hurled
        Ringing right across the world,—­
    All true hearts are beating for you in the Gold Land.

AUSTRALIA SPEAKS.

BY GERALD MASSEY.

      What is the News to-day, Boys? 
        Have they fired the Signal gun? 
      We answer but one way, Boys;
      We are ready for the fray, Boys,
        All ready and all one!

      They shall not say we boasted
        Of deeds that would be done;
      Or sat at home and toasted: 
      We are marshall’d, drilled, and posted,
        All ready and all one!

      We are not as driven cattle
        That would the conflict shun. 
      They have to test our mettle
      As Volunteers of Battle,
        All ready and all one!

      The life-streams of the Mother
        Through all her youngsters run,
      And brother stands by brother,
      To die with one another,
        All ready and all one!

AN IMPERIAL REPLY.

BY GERALD MASSEY.

    ’Tis glorious, when the thing to do
      Is at the supreme instant done! 
    We count your first fore-running few
      A thousand men for every one! 
    For this true stroke of statesmanship—­
      The best Australian poem yet—­
    Old England gives your hand the grip,
      And binds you with a coronet,
    In which the gold o’ the Wattle glows
    With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose.

    They talked of England growing old,
      They said she spoke with feeble voice;
    But hear the virile answer rolled
      Across the world!  Behold her Boys
    Come back to her full-statured Men,
      To make four-square her fighting ranks. 
    She feels her youth renewed again,
      With heart too full for aught but “Thanks!”
    And now the gold o’ the Wattle glows
    With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose.

    “My Boys have come of age to-day,”
      The proud old mother smiling said. 
    “They write a brand-new page to-day,
      By far-off futures to be read!”
    Throughout all lands of British blood,
      This stroke hath kindled such a glow;
    The Federal links of Brotherhood
      Are clasped and welded at a blow. 
    And aye the gold o’ the Wattle glows
    With Shamrock, Thistle, and the Rose.