'Hello, soldier!'

Produced by Peter O'Connell
Hello, Soldier! Khaki Verse
by Edward Dyson
Many of these verse were originally printed in the Bulletin, others in Punch, The Leader and Melbourne Herald. Some few are now published for the first time.
The paper famine leaving me no option but to print on peculiar paper, not wholly prohibitive or to defer the publication of my verses for an unknown period, the natural longing of a parent to parade his well be- gotten prevails. If my book is unusual and bizarre from a craftman's point of view, I plead the unusual times and extraordinary conditions. Of these times and conditions. I hope Hello Soldier is in some measure characteriastic.—Edward Dyson.
AUSTRALIA, my native land, A stirring whisper in your ear— 'Tis time for you to understand Your rating now is A1, dear. You've done some rousing things of late. That lift you from the simple state In which you chose to vegetate.
The persons so superior, Whose patronage no more endures, Now have to fire a salvo for The glory that is fairly yours. At length you need no sort of crutch, You stand alone, you're voted much — Get busy and behave as such.
No man from Oskosh, or from Hull, Or any other chosen place Can rise with a distended skull, And cast aspersions in your face. You're given all the world to know Your proper standing as a foe, And hats are off, and rightly so.
You furnished heroes for the fray, Your sterling merit's widely blown To all men's satisfaction say, Now have you proved it to your own? Now have you strength to stand and shine In your own light and say, Divine The thing is that I do. It's mine!
The cannon's stroke throws customs down The black and bottomless abyss, And quaking are the gilded crown And palsied feet of prejudice. The guns have killed, but it is true They bring to life things good and new. God grant they have awakened you!
My ears are greedy for the toast Of confidence before our guest, The loyal song, the manly boast Your splendid faith to manifest. In works of art and livelihood Shirk not the creed, What's ours is good, Dread not to have it understood.