After the Battle
'Twas not for Beer we were fighting; it was not Christ we opposed;
'Twould be well for many, God help us! if all the hotels were closed:
Not the Churches all round, nor the victims of a great but an honest mistake —
I have friends amongst the parsons whose hands 'twere an honour to take.
Big men for the most part, broad minded, and ranking with Nature's kings,
With the gentleness, truth, and the courage that belong to all big things;
Men who will stand up and speak out in spite of their brothers' groans —
Men like Brother Charles Matthews and the Reverend Cutcliff Jones.
Not the Rescue Brigades, not the " Army " we fought in the battle we won:
We have seen too much of their struggles and the work that they have done,
From the time when converted " scrappers " used their science in London East
To Bourke and the sunbaked lassies, and Gaol and the felon released.
Not the street-corner " brethren " and sisters, engaged in singing and prayer,
Not the white-faced, or saint-eyed, little woman at the little cracked organ there;
Not the Faith in the Penitent blatant (I mock not! Be not afraid —
There was one who was glad, I remember, to call for your " Prisoner's Aid " !)
We fought not against Christ, but some christians, and they neither powerless nor few —
There are many, too many amongst us, who were hounded and crucified too.
There are men in the Ministry working who have trodden the paths that we trod;
There are men in the Churches, my masters! who are servants of Mankind and God.
We fought the Cant of the Ages, the time-serving Feminine Lie,
Slandering God's own country — sending their reek to the sky:
The tales of Unspeakable Women, ka-ka-cackling to you
Till you became in your weakness hysterical liars too.
Tools of a desperate madman with many black things to hide
(Known to each boy in the Service) fouling the otherside:
Seeing in parks in broad daylight things that never could be —
Things that sneaking " foxers " have been shot for trying to see.
Tools of the snide politician, and withered " ferminity " ,
Sexual perverts and shemales who craved notoriety,
Till you became posers and " foxers " like Judkins — and liars too.
What did you want? In all reason, what was the matter with you?
We fought for a breath of the Beaches — the spray where the green comber curls —
For a happy and innocent Sunday for thousands of factory girls.
We fought for our name and our country when cowards would blacken and mar —
We fought for all the Australias, and morally just as they are.
I know that thieves are upon us, but not from the kingdoms of drink;
I know that the city is rotten, but not in the places you think;
I could tell you of things in high places, dared not in newspapers or books,
That would sicken your reverend stomachs, and waste a day's work for your cooks.
'Twould be well for many, God help us! if all the hotels were closed:
Not the Churches all round, nor the victims of a great but an honest mistake —
I have friends amongst the parsons whose hands 'twere an honour to take.
Big men for the most part, broad minded, and ranking with Nature's kings,
With the gentleness, truth, and the courage that belong to all big things;
Men who will stand up and speak out in spite of their brothers' groans —
Men like Brother Charles Matthews and the Reverend Cutcliff Jones.
Not the Rescue Brigades, not the " Army " we fought in the battle we won:
We have seen too much of their struggles and the work that they have done,
From the time when converted " scrappers " used their science in London East
To Bourke and the sunbaked lassies, and Gaol and the felon released.
Not the street-corner " brethren " and sisters, engaged in singing and prayer,
Not the white-faced, or saint-eyed, little woman at the little cracked organ there;
Not the Faith in the Penitent blatant (I mock not! Be not afraid —
There was one who was glad, I remember, to call for your " Prisoner's Aid " !)
We fought not against Christ, but some christians, and they neither powerless nor few —
There are many, too many amongst us, who were hounded and crucified too.
There are men in the Ministry working who have trodden the paths that we trod;
There are men in the Churches, my masters! who are servants of Mankind and God.
We fought the Cant of the Ages, the time-serving Feminine Lie,
Slandering God's own country — sending their reek to the sky:
The tales of Unspeakable Women, ka-ka-cackling to you
Till you became in your weakness hysterical liars too.
Tools of a desperate madman with many black things to hide
(Known to each boy in the Service) fouling the otherside:
Seeing in parks in broad daylight things that never could be —
Things that sneaking " foxers " have been shot for trying to see.
Tools of the snide politician, and withered " ferminity " ,
Sexual perverts and shemales who craved notoriety,
Till you became posers and " foxers " like Judkins — and liars too.
What did you want? In all reason, what was the matter with you?
We fought for a breath of the Beaches — the spray where the green comber curls —
For a happy and innocent Sunday for thousands of factory girls.
We fought for our name and our country when cowards would blacken and mar —
We fought for all the Australias, and morally just as they are.
I know that thieves are upon us, but not from the kingdoms of drink;
I know that the city is rotten, but not in the places you think;
I could tell you of things in high places, dared not in newspapers or books,
That would sicken your reverend stomachs, and waste a day's work for your cooks.
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