On with the dance!  For the years have flown
Has not the world o'er weary grown
   Of bygone heroes, of bygone deeds?
   Shall we not turn to our later needs?
Must we ever be sobbing, ever be sad
O'er the mother who lost her soldier lad?
   On with the . . . . .

FEET -- FEET -- FEET -- FEET!  HEAR THEIR STEADY, PULSATING BEAT --
EVERY FOOTFALL MARKING A PLACE
WHERE THE IRON SUNK DEEP IN THE SOUL OF THE RACE
EVER THE RHYTHMIC DATEFUL TREAD
SAYING: "THE DEAD --
		THEY WERE --
			OUR DEAD!"
SAYING INSISTENTLY: "WAY! MAKE WAY!
THE ANZACS MARCH!  THIS IS THEIR DAY!"

On with the work; for there's much to do,
Cash and preferment, for me and for you
   Wait on our doing.  Why halt to pray
   For a long-gone grief, for a long-dead day?
Have we not given?  Have we not spent
To mend the broken, to aid the bent?
   On with the . . . . .

FEET -- FEET -- FEET -- FEET!  DEEDS BE LASTING, THO' LIFE BE FLEET.
EVERY FOOTFALL MARKETH A GRAVE
WHERE A BROKEN MAN WENT DOWN TO SAVE
HONOR! . . . . THE RHYTHMIC, FATEFUL TREAD
SAYETH: "THE DEAD --
		THEY WERE --
			OUR DEAD!"
SAYETH, COMMANDINGLY: "WAY!  MAKE WAY!
THE ANZACS MARCH!  THIS IS THEIR DAY!"

On with the gaiety! On with the fun!
What are we caring, with life begun,
   For lives long ended?  Can they not rest?
   On with the . . . . .

FEET -- FEET -- FEET -- FEET: "SO WE, MARCHING, ONE DAY SHALL MEET
BROTHERS WHO, LONG SINCE, MARCHED BEFORE
INTO THE WEST WHEN THE WORLD KNEW WAR.
EVERY FOOTFALL LEAVING A STAIN
THAT NEVER SHALL LIFT TILL THEY LIVE AGAIN
EVER THE RHYTHMIC FATEFUL TREAD
CRIETH: "THE DEAD --
		THEY WERE --
			OUR DEAD!"
CRIETH, EXULTINGLY: "WEST IS THE WAY!
THE ANZACS MARCH!  THIS IS OUR DAY!"

"C. J. Dennis"
Herald, 25 April 1928, p4