The Day We Celebrate

Brothers! (It is thus I again address you, though we are, indubitably, the sons of divers mothers.)

Brothers!

When you awoke this morn,
Refreshed with sleep, and facing a
    hostile world like a man reborn,
Noticed ye anything strange about
    the day?
Did you not, in some way,
Sense
That some event immense
Portended?

Don't tell me you pretended—
As you proceeded to yawn
Apathetically in the face of this
    glorious dawn—
Don't say that you dissembled
And thought unto yourself that this
    Wednesday morning in any way
    resembled
Any other old Wednesday morning
    in the year.

Brothers, I fear
You did . . .

Heaven forbid
That I should reproach you, or cry,
"Fie!"
For, brothers, so did I . . . .

It was only a few minutes ago, while
walking in the street,
That I stopped dead in my tracks
and recollected that today
THEY
Meet.

You know whom I mean when I say
"They":
That multitude of councillors in
which there is alleged to be wis-
dom, and all that sort of thing.
Yea: in a certain Melbourne street,
called Spring,
They meet and speak;
And will continue to do so for the
greater part of the week.
Even as you read these lines they
are probably talking.
While you are walking
Carelessly along the street, or riding
home comfortably (?) in the
tram, or, possibly, driving
Luxuriously in your motor, these
councillors are striving
Altruistically to improve your lot—
Or are they not?

Well, perhaps
You hard-headed, worldly-wise, so-
phisticated chaps
Know more about the game than I.
But out of the mouths of babes and
sucklings, and even M.P.'s, come
forth certain things that he shall
consider by and bye.

In the meantime, brothers, do not be
downhearted.
There is much joy coming to us when
the talk gets fairly started.
With these few remarks, I hereupon
retire for a space, but shall have
something more to say on the
subject anon
There will be much to tell
Brothers, farewell.