A Christmas Greeting To K.B.
While changing Seasons run their course,
Controlled and guided from above,
It is thy part to re-enforce
The broadening stream of Light and Love.
poem by Joseph Furphy
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A Christmas Hymn
The Seraph-song of morning's prime
That hail'd Messiah's birth,
The charter of a coming time
When Love shall rule the earth,
Rings from yon far Judaean hill —
poem by Joseph Furphy
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Impromptu Lines
Deem not this wielder of this pen
The happiest bloke alive,
For I am only five-foot-ten,
And ye are ten-foot-five.
Wherefore I clothe myself in jute,
And likewise softly go,
Like that historical galoot
Whose tale you surely know.
poem by Joseph Furphy
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A S.S.T.'s Lament
Would I were a profit monger,
Buying cheap, and selling dear,
Groceries, or something stronger,
Toys, or pipes, or sporting gear,
Wrong, maybe, but ain't it wronger
That I should be stranded here,
While my upper lip grow longer,
Month by month, and year by year?
poem by Joseph Furphy
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Birthday Lines For K.B.
Life is a Poem, short or long,
A dismal Dirge, or jovial Song,
A Psalm of faith, or Lay of Pride,
One stanza by each year supplied.
And thy sweet Hymn of love and truth,
A carol of unfading youth,
Which God hath given thee to rehearse,
Enlightening others' chequered way,
Is strengthened by a further verse
Upon the gracious April day.
poem by Joseph Furphy
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Are you the Cove?
“Are you the Cove?” he spoke the words
As swagmen only can;
The Squatter freezingly inquired,
“What do you mean, my man?”
“Are you the Cove?” his voice was stern,
His look was firm and keen;
Again the Squatter made reply,
"I don’t know what you mean."
“0! dash my rags! let’s have some sense –
You ain’t a fool, by Jove,
Gammon you dunno what I mean;
I mean – are you the Cove?’
‘Yes, I'm the Cove,” the Squatter said;
The Swagman answered, "Right,
I thought as much: show me some place
Where I can doss tonight."
poem by Joseph Furphy
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Breaking The News
Johnny's drowned — here's his clo'es
Where he's got to, we dunno;
Sure enough, he never rose;
So we thought we'd let you know.
Gosh! the fright has knocked us flat —
Here's his shirt, an' here's his hat.
Never seen him since he plopp'd,
Jist a'side the big red-gum;
So, thinks we, poor Johnny's copp'd —
All so suddent! — ain't it rum?
Must be snagg'd among the roots —
Here's his pants, an' socks, an' boots.
Simplest thing you ever seen —
Only just a common swim —
Cripes! it might as ready been
Me or Bill in place o' him!
Try to snake him out, I s'pose?
Anyway, we fetch'd his clo'es.
poem by Joseph Furphy
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Finis. Time.
O Time! Time! Time!
Thou wondrous mystery!
Within whose rune and rhyme
Lies all Man's history
Before Creation's birth
Or yet the Heavens were made
With darkness all was girth,
Till word Creative said
'Let there be Light;'
And lo! from out the deep
In grandeur and with might
Rolled back the ages of sleep,
And born was Night-and-Day,
And stars together sang
Their glad harmonic lay
And all Creation rang
With 'Glory to God in the Highest.'
Now let the strain resound
And Man to God the nighest
With Light and Life be crowned,
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poem by Joseph Furphy
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Lines For Lizer-Jane's Album.
No two leaves that wave in Arden,
No two grass blades on the plain,
No two flowers that gem the garden,
Show as twins in form or vein,
No two grains of desert sand
Counterpart leave Nature's hand.
So the all resourceful mother
Forms her children each unique
Meet to supplement each other
In the purpose all should seek
Thus her aim deciphered shows
None must copy, none may pose —
Hence no trodden path can guide thee;
Thou art duplicate of none;
Untried issues shall betide thee;
Options new beneath the sun
And thou can'st not copy well
Failing perfect parallel —
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poem by Joseph Furphy
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Autograph Verses
'Prove what Life can give of gladness;
Seek for aught that merits trust —
All thy mirth will turn to sadness,
All thy bliss to cold disgust.
Soon revolving years will banish
Fairest hopes, in darkness laid;
Earthly treasures soon must vanish,
Strength and beauty fail and fade.'
Thus, life-weary, spake the preacher,
Closing his misguided quest.
Heed him not, the half-truth teacher,
Deaf to Love's supreme behest.
But with Faith thy life adorning,
Serve thy race as Heaven hath plann'd;
Sow thy seed at dawn of morning,
Nor at evening stay thy hand.
Never shall this path seem weary;
Never hath such purpose fail'd;
Nor the retrospect proved dreary,
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poem by Joseph Furphy
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