Classic Poem

They come from the city counter;
They come from the sandy West;
They come from the South Sea Islands—
Our bravest and our best.

They rush from the pen and the tiller,
The shearing machine and the plough;
And the Star of Australasia
Is high in the Heavens now.

Riding, tramping, and sailing—
From home or from never a home;
Over distance and hardship prevailing—
With money, or not, they come.

And each with his secret story,
And all with a common aim:
To sail to a foreign country,
And fight for England's name.