Tho' fingers strain in torture of good-byes,
And the vain glance of sad, prophetic eyes
Falls where the waiting transport grimly lies,
And life grows sick with sense of something lost --
Oh! There are not the things that matter most.
The things that matter are that men shall go
With steel, stern eyes and lips to meet the foe,
Lest burning homes along Our skyline grow --
That battles should be won -- nor freedom lost --
These are the things to-day that matter most!
First published in The Sydney Mail, 13 September 1916
