Anzac
By
Alice Gore-Jones
Undying honour shall your name possess,
Crowned by a strength whose stern endurance earns
That higher fame; and like a strong flame burns
Through sheer adversity and rugged stress.
Around your beetling cliffs their memories press,
Those gaunt adventurers, whose ardour spurns
Defeat; and lightly to fresh purpose turns
The spirit splendid of their deathlessness.
Anzac! ’Tis like a trumpet blast at morn,
A clarion call to wake the coming years
After the war-worn world has reached its goal;
For there amid the battle-dust was born—
Mocking disaster, undismayed by fears,
Star-white and radiant—our southern soul.
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