Poem - Ethel Campbell

ANZACS

By Ethel Campbell

 What mean these great white ships at sea, ploughing their eastward tack,

 Bearing their mangled human freight, bringing the spent men back?

 They mean that Australia has been there, they mean she has played the game,

 And her wonderful sons have won their share of everlasting fame.

 Battered, and worn, and war scarred—those who had left their land

 Strong in their glowing manhood, by England to take their stand;

 Those who had sailed, when the war cloud burst, out on a distant foam

 To the tune of "Australia Will be There"—thus are they coming home.

 What mean these absent numbers, the gaps in the stricken line?

 You will find the graves which tell you, on the trail by Lonesome Pine:

 On the slopes of Achi Baba, on Koja Chemen's brow,

 They died the death of heroes, as Australia's sons know how.

 Eager for battle they leapt ashore at the cove where their name was won,

 They stormed the cliffs of Sari Bair, where the death trap gullies run;

 In the lead-rent scrub by Krithia, on the banks of Kereves Dere,

 High on the shell-swept ridges—Australia has been there!

 There is silence on the beaches now, the battle-din has fled

 From the gullies, cliffs, and ridges where they charged up, fought and bled.

 There's a little cove that's sacred—north of Gaba Tepe Hill—

To the glory of the men who died, and a name that never will!

 There are great white vessels sailing, and they bear the joy and pain,

 And the glory of Australia's sons who have not bled in vain;

 Tho' crippled, helpless, maimed for life, tho' more than death their loss,

 There is more than life in the glory of the burden of their cross.

 Greater than jewel-decked Emperor, greater than ermined King,

 Clad in their faded suits of blue, the men that the white ships bring;

 What tho' their crown a bandage, stretcher or cot their throne,

 Splints or a crutch their sceptre—the Anzac name is their own!

 When our wonderful tale of Empire, is written in far-off days,

 Not least from its glowing pages, a little name will blaze;

 A little name will echo in the paen of our fame,

 In the glory of bur annals, there will live the Anzac name.