Tracked me by the camps I'd quitted, used the waterholes I'd hollowed. They'll go back and do the talking. They'll be called the Pioneers! They will find my sites of townships-not the cities that I set there. They will rediscover rivers-not my rivers heard at night. By my own old marks and bearings they will show me how to get there, By the lonely cairns I builded they will guide my feet aright. Have I named one single river? Have I claimed one single acre? Have I kept one single nugget-(barring samples)? No, not I. Because my price was paid me ten times over by my Maker. But you wouldn't understand it. You go up and occupy. Ores you'll find there; wood and cattle; water-transit sure and steady (That should keep the railway rates down), coal and iron at your doors. God took care to hide that country till He judged His people ready, Then He chose me for His Whisper, and I've found it, and it's yours! THE EXPLORER Yes, your 'Never-never country'-yes, your 'edge of cultivation' And 'no sense in going farther'-till I crossed the range to see. God forgive me! No, I didn't. It's God's present to our nation. Anybody might have found it but-His Whisper came to Me! O THE WAGE-SLAVES (1902) H glorious are the guarded heights An ampler arc their spirit swings Commands a juster view We have their word for all these things, Yet we the bondslaves of our day, And leagued unfaithfulness— From forge and farm and mine and bench, Mill, school, battalion, counter, trench, THE WAGE-SLAVES Creation's cry goes up on high 'Send us the men who do the work Words cannot help nor wit achieve, Beneath the sun we count on none Except the men that do the work When through the Gates of Stress and Strain Comes forth the vast Event The simple, sheer, sufficing, sane Result of labour spent They that have wrought the end unthought Be neither saint nor sage, But merely men who did the work Wherefore to these the Fates shall bend (And all old idle things-) Wherefore on these shall Power attend Beyond the grasp of kings. Each in his place, by right, not grace, The men who simply do the work Not such as scorn the loitering street, But such as dower each mortgaged hour Even the men who do the work For which they draw the wage Men like to Gods that do the work |