_George Essex Evans._ O’HARA CCXXVIII FLINDERS He left his island home For leagues of sleepless foam, For stress of alien seas, Where wild winds ever blow; For England’s sake he sought Fresh fields of fame, and fought A stormy world for these, A hundred years ago. And where the Austral shore Heard southward far the roar Of rising tides that came From lands of ice and snow, Beneath a gracious sky To fadeless memory He left a deathless name A hundred years ago. Yea, left a name sublime From that wild dawn of Time, Whose light he haply saw In supreme sunrise flow, And from the shadows vast, That filled the dim dead past, A brighter glory draw, A hundred years ago. Perchance, he saw in dreams Beside our sunlit streams In some majestic hour Old England’s banners blow; Mayhap, the radiant morn Of this great nation born, August with perfect power, A hundred years ago. We know not,--yet for thee Far may the season be, Whose harp in shameful sleep Is soundless lying low! Far be the noteless hour That holds of fame no flower For those who dared our deep A hundred years ago! _John Bernard O’Hara._ CCXXIX THE AUSTRALIAN COMMONWEALTH Lo, ’tis the light of the morn Over the mountains breaking, And our Empire’s day is born, The life of a Nation waking To the triumph of regal splendour, To the voice of conquering fate That cries ‘No longer wait!’ To the rising hopes that send her Fearless upon her way With no thoughts of her yesterday, But dreams of a mighty State Great ’mid the old grave nations, Divine in her aspirations; Blest be the men who brought her, Freedom’s starriest daughter, Out of the night Into the light, A power and a glory for evermore!-- Let the old world live in the pages Time wrote in the dark of the ages, For us ’tis the light of the morning breaking on sea and shore!