Men of Austral--Sons of Toil
A poem by Mona Marie
Men of Austral--Sons of toil,
Let none you of rights despoil.
Ye of sinew and of Wind
Be not fickle as the mind ;
Veering round from south to north,
But, like armies trained go forth
Disciplined for labor's light,
Go in Union's peerless might;
Ye are men ! Ye are not slaves !
Wherefore be the tools of knaves ?
Austral's isle is Freedom's home,
Here beneath it's favor'd dome
Shall, to suit oppressions whim
Freedom's altar lights grow dim.
Craven like, say, will ye cower
Now in labor's battle hour ?
Fear ye childlike', false! alarms,
Have ye not stout hearts mid arms ?
Ye are men ! Ye are not slaves !
Wherefore be the tools of knaves !
Justice here hath rear'd its throne ;
Progress like a mighty zone
Girdles this our sunlit isle ;
Avarice hath ceased to smile ;
Education hath at last,
Like a stern Iconoclast,
Hewn the old time idols down,
Now, ye need not fear their frown ;
Ye are men ! Ye are not slaves !
Wherefore be the tools of knaves ?
Capital in honest hands
Will concede your just demands ;
Capita! in hands unjust.
Like a worm, shall bite the dust.
Sons of Austral's favor'd clime,
Standing firm 'midst woes sublime ;
Fight not as oppressors light,
Battle only for the right
Ye are men ! Ye are not slaves !
Wherefore be the tools of knaves ?
MONA MARIE. Ballarat.
Notes
From the NSW newspaper the Nepean Times Saturday 18 October 1890 p. 6.