Nation Of The Blind

The grass grows over Eureka
and Stuart's tree is burned;
Greenaway's stones are down
and our eyes are dull and blind.

The increase-stones are scattered;
the soil is raped and bare;
none sings in patriotic voice;
and our ears are stuffed and deaf.

Our singers sing soft and pretty,
none shouts in warning tones;
our prophets are muffled and gagged,
and our mouths as dumb as stones.

Gone is the heat and fervour,
our patriot fires are ash
none shatters the sky with shouting
and our deepest thoughts are trash.

Fools of the bread and circus,
fools who have frittered away
our youth and our fire and ambition
in aping empty play.

Now is the time for returning
to courage and spears of the mind.
Awake, and see to your dawning,
oh, nation of the blind.