God gave him gifts: nor gave in vain
The great heart and the master-brain
To dream, to battle, to attain,
To storm the height.
The power that all men strive to gain
Was his by right.
O saddest Spring in all the land!
O Mystery, hard to understand
When, at the stern unknown command,
With icy breath,
Fate placed within his fearless hand
The gift of Death!
Calm be his sleep who lived to dare.
Go, say a patriot slumbers there
Whose brows were never bent to wear
His loftiest fame,
Yet wrote on Queenslands page a rare
A fadeless name!
He fought his fight: he won his goal.
His name is on the battle-scroll;
And, whilst beyond our weak control
The tears we shed
Well deep within a Nations soul,
He is not dead.
