Various Verse

Observer, Volume XL, Issue 6, 11 October 1919, Page 30

Various Verse

THE HEART'S DESIRE

(Fob the Obseevee.)

1 close mine eyes, a picture shines Drawn from a strong desire. A little home amidst the pines, Two chairs, a crackling fire.

A gtissy sea, a sloping shore, The lulls all verdure clad. A talking brook, with mossy floor, And all the world seems glad.

A woman sweet with singing lips, Is standing by a tree, Just where the babbling brooklet slips, All laughing to the sea.

AM this I see with rapturous eyes, Sweet nature undefiled. The scented breeze that softly sighs, The birds, and all things wild.

And is it that we ask of Thee Too great a heritage. The trees, the hills, the shining sea, Have thrown to us their gauge.

—JOHN H. KINGDON

9> ©

A visit to Australia by the Pacific Fleet of the United States of America is promised in the near future.

1 wonder if we'll have again the time we had before, When Jacky of the Great "White Fleet had found Australia's shore.

Then how the- oratory flowed, and also thy champagne; Tlie time, we had before J wonder ii we'Jl have again. Among ad those sea-captains bold you could not stick a pin Without impaling one who knew the way to wag ln\s chin; 'Tis part of ■everybody's life who lives in U.S.A.

He has to rise and speak his piece a dozen times a (lay.

We recollect the Grout White Fleet as in the rosy glow ()i : memory rising lip complete from days of long ago ; All flagged and garlanded by day and

radiant, too, by night, We gave the boys from U.S.A. a welcome truo and bright; Upon the waters wide there shone against the gathering dark The outlines that we looked upon as of some magic bark ; So from the darkness of the past our vivid memories shine Of fun both furious and fast -in days of Auld Lang Syne.

Does either Canton or Toorak forget the Yankee kid? , Gold-braided officer and Jack; alike in them 'twas hid; And Liza from Port Melbourne's sti-and as ardently was wooed, As officers besought the hand of Kooyong's Ermyntrude. Could'Parkville Lucy's blushes beat the cheeks of Malvern Maud At secret memories and sweet of sundry walks abroad ? Will there be some of those who come who made the trip of yore? I wonder if we'll have again the time we had before.

What memories of a kissing mouth, a dark and melting eye, They carried with them from the Smith when Sperry said good-bye! The Astors and the Vanderbilts wore thick as b'nckberries, And Pierjxmt Morgan's nephews — well, yon took your pick of these. How many Wall-street millionaires were sailors of the Fleet, And, freed awhile from money cares, found happiness complete! With every bottle of champagne they owned a million more. I wonder if Ave'll have again the time we had before. —Melbourne "Punch."

THE GREAT THINKER.

Back of the beating hammer By which the steel is wrought, Back of the workshop's clamour, The seeker may find the thought ; The thought that is ever master 01 iron and steam and steel, That rises above disaster And tramples it under hee\ The drudge may fret and tinker Or labour with lusty blows, But back of him stands the thinker, The clear-eyed man who knows; For into each plough or sabre, Each piece and part and whole, Must go the brains of labour, Which gives the work a soul. Back of the motor's humming, Back of the bell that sings, Back of the hammer's drumming, Back of the crane that swings, There is the eye which scans them, Watching through stress and strain, There is the mind which plans them— Back of the brawn, the brain. Might of the roaring boiler, Force of the engine's thrust, Strength of the sweating toiler, Greatly in these we trust; But back of them stands the Schemer, The Thinker who drives things through; Back of the job—the Dreamer Who's making the dream come true.

THE MAN BEHIND THE PLOUGH.

They sing about the glories of the 'man behind the gun, And the books are full of stories of the wonders he has done; There's something sort of thrilling in the Hag that's waving high. And it makes you want to holler when the boys go marching by ; 13ut when the shouting's over and the fighting's done, somehow We find we're still depending " on the man behind the plough."

In all the pomp and splendour of an annv on parade, And through all the awful darkness by the smoke of battles made ; In the halls where jewels glitter, and where shouting men debate. In the palaces where rulers deal out honours to the great; There is not a single person who'd be doin' business now, Or have medals, if it wasn't for "the man behind the plough."

We're building mighty cities, and we're gaining lofty heights, We're winning lots of glory and we're setting things to rights; We're showing all creation how the world's affairs should run, And men will gaze with wonder at the things that we have done. But they'll overlook the feller, just the same as we do now, Who's the whole concern's foundation, that's "the man behind the plough."