Mary Gilmore Quotes

I have grown past hate and bitterness, I see the world as one;
But though I can no longer hate, My son is still my son.All men at God's round table sit, And all men must be fed;
But this loaf in my hand, This loaf is my son's bread.

Emptied of us the land, Ghostly our going,
Fallen, like spears the hand Dropped in the throwing.We are the lost who went, Like the cranes, crying;
Hunted, lonely, and spent, Broken and dying.

Never allow the thoughtless to delcare
That we have no tradition here!

"I'm old
Botany Bay;
Stiff in the joints,
Little to say.I am he
Who paved the way,
That you might walk
At your ease to-day;
[...]
I split the rock;
I felled the tree:
The nation was —
Because of me!"Old Taking the sun
From day to day. ...
Shame on the mouth
That would deny
The knotted hands
That set us high!

I have no thunder in my words, Thunder is much too high;
But I can see as far as birds, And feel the wind go by.And I can follow through the grass The darling-breasted quail;
For, though things great in splendour mass, I choose the lesser grail.

I never knew how wide the dark,
I never knew the depth of space,
I never knew how frail a bark,
How small is man within his place,Not till I heard the swans go by,
Not till I marked their haunting cry,
Not till, within the vague on high,
I watched them pass across the sky. ...

We are the sons of Australia,
Of the men who fashioned the land,
We are the sons of the women
Who walked with them, hand in hand;
And we swear by the dead who bore us,
By the heroes who blazed the trail,
No foe shall gather our harvest,
Or sit on our stockyard rail.

Youth troubles over eternity; age grasps at a day and is satisfied to have even the day.

I am not very patient, Yet patient I must be
With him beside my pillow And the babe upon my knee.
[...]
Strange that I was given
Thoughts that soar to heaven,
Yet must I sit and keep
Children in their sleep!

Never admit the pain,
Bury it deep;
Only the weak complain.
Complaint is cheap.

Nurse no long grief,
Lest the heart flower no more;
Grief builds no barns; its plough
Rusts at the door.

It’s gettin’ bits o’ posies, ’N’ feelin’ mighty good;
A-thrillin’ ’cause she loves you, An’ wond’rin’ why she should;
[...]
As if there’s nothin’ mattered, As if the world was good,
As if the Lord was lookin’, An’ sort o’ understood.

I span and Eve span,
A thread to bind the heart of man!

It's us two when it's morning, And us two when it's night;
And us two when it's troubled, And us two when it's bright;And us two don't want nothing To make life good and true,
And lovin'-sweet, and happy, While us two's got us two.

Moorangoo, the dove, in her high place mourned,
And Mulloka, the Water Spirit, turned
In his shade as he heard her weep,
Sad as the lone that cries in his sleep
At the sound of the gun,
Asking for pity where pity was none.