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Home  »  The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse  »  104 . Pioneers

Walter Murdoch (1874–1970). The Oxford Book of Australasian Verse. 1918.

By Arthur W. Jose

104 . Pioneers

THERE is no word of thanks to hear,

No word of praise to gain,

But we, that must, in sun and dust,

Tramp on across the plain:

We know not how the orders come,

Who bids the bugle blow …

But we, that may, track out the way

Our comrades soon shall go.

Far, far behind our army drags

The wagons and the guns;

Along the line, beneath the flags,

A noise of cheering runs;

Full-seen in all the blaze of noon

Set forth its proud array…

But we were up beneath the moon

And out before the day.

Where age-long in the dank ravine

A swamp-fed forest grew,

’Tis we that back the jungle back

To let the sunlight through;

Across the desert no man dared,

Up cliffs where none might win,

By down and dale we blaze the trail,

The highway for our kin.

The noonday or the nightfall knows

The flickering of our fires,

The flung-down pack, the stretcht repose,

The talk of dreamt desires.

We camp, and go, and care no jot

How soon, how far we roam…

But each camp-fire has marked a spot

That men shall call their home.

A sudden bullet flicks the air,

A comrade slacks his stride;

Small time have we for surgery

Whose errand may not bide:

Stanch, as you go, the jetting blood,

Set teeth against the pain,

And feel the grip of comradeship

Stir you to strength again.

Ours is the shattering night-surprise,

The crawl of lifelong days,

The slow set stare of aching eyes

Across the drifted haze:

Lonely in hidden lairs we spy

The march of stealthy foes;

What work we do, what death we die,

Not even a comrade knows.

By beaten roads the mainguard goes

With banner and with band;

Yet we, that dare, find everywhere

New work that fits our hand;

We know not how the orders come …

But hark! the bugles blow:

Across the plain day breaks again;

Pick up the packs, and go!