The Evening Prayer and the Morning After

“Even the people of the Melbourne press regard me somewhat like the Chinese regards his joss,” added Mr Hughes. “They say, ‘Oh, well, it is a rotten day; let us sit and write an article against Billy Hughes (Laughter.) Really at the bottom of their hearts I am sure that the last thing they say at night is, ‘God bless him.’ (Laugh- ter.)

Brothers, I never write
In spite.
And, when I go to bed at night
I con my day’s transgressions o’er
And own I feel a little sore—
Sometimes the more,
For exigencies of my verse
Have made me most unjustly curse
Some politician.
Whose position
Probably has caused him much
Nerve-strain and such.
I have a conscience, brothers mine,
And when my bed-time thoughts in-
cline
To kindly views,
Then Mr Hughes
I straight refuse
To think of but as someone grand
Who’s given all to this fair land,
A patriot who, year by year,
Thinks nothing of his own career,
But schemes and plans, both night
and day
To find a way
To do the big things of the nation
And bring the land, at last, salvation.
He worries not about elections,
Or his late colleagues’ grave defections;
Never speaks just for effect,
Never urges the neglect
Of the nation’s pressing needs.
Then, my brothers, my heart bleeds
For so sore maligned a wight,
And I sob and sob all night,
Crying. “Oh, how could I be
So sunk in iniquity
As to ever criticise
Any man so great and wise?
How,” I moan, “it must distress him?
Noble patriot! God bless him!”

But, when I waken in the morn,
Feeling fagged and rather worn,
And pick up the morning paper;
Then some caper,
Some fresh twists the man has taken,
Change my views—when I awaken!
With the rising of the sun,
Some new stunt the man has done
Leaves me cold;
And I make bold
To rescind my evening blessing . . .
(Brothers, it is most distressing)
But I fear that I’m inclined,
In my clearer morning mind,
Clearer thoughts to entertain,
And, once again,
Back I hark to condemnations
With, perhaps, some reservations,
Which a slightly biased press
I must confess
May implant.
And yet I rant;
And, as I arise to dress,
Nevermore the man I bless,
But in my cold bath I bellow,
“Dash the fellow!”