The First Goldrush At Melbourne Poem by William a Beckett

I.
How it moves us--how it proves us--
This bewildering tale of gold!
How they glisten--how they listen--
Eyes and ears when it is told!
How it sets us all a-raving,
How it sets us all a-craving,
Thinking of what might be got,
If we were but on the spot!
Gone are many, some still linger,
Waiting with unquiet heart,
And few feel not itching finger,
As they see the rest depart,

II.
In the bush, and in the city,
'Gold's' the universal ditty,
Not alone the pauper--miser--
Slaves of avarice or want,
But the wealthier and the wiser
Seek for baptism at its font.
Men who'd think it a base libel,
If 'twas hinted they were poor;
Men who talk about their Bible,
And plates hold at the church door--
Labour-hirer, working man,
Clerk, mechanic, artisan,
Washed and unwashed--high and low,
Mingle in the current's flow
That doth to the 'diggins' go.

III.
What is this strange scene we near,
New to eye and new to ear?
See them delving there below,
Ev'ry dig a gamester's throw;
What is this they pause to view--
Turning o'er and looking through?
Ha!--the glittering ore appears,
Gone are all their long-felt fears;
Dig, my boys--behold, behold--
Dig away--for this is gold!

IV.
Look around on all the scene,
Much that's mournful doth it mean.
See how they eye one another,
Should thus brother look on brother?
Yonder scowling visage mark,
Well it is not lone or dark,
For if murder could be done,
There, to do it, standeth one.

V.
Night is come, and here and there
Sleepers close their eyes in prayer;
But 'neath more than one tarpaulin
There is drinking, gaming, brawling--
Ending oft in challenged fight
To be fought by Sabbath light,
If, perchance, the coming morn
Of a week-day should be born--
For e'en hatred can keep cold
Sooner than stop work for gold,
Digging for it, as if God
Had hid salvation 'neath the sod!

VI.
Gold! supreme is thy dominion,
God of church upon whose creed
Every nation is agreed;
Where's another one on which
Holds mankind the same opinion--
'Tis expedient to be rich?
Missionary in Christ's name,
Would but find reception tame,
By the side of him who came
Thy evangel to proclaim.
With a faith that never falters,
With a trust that heeds no shock
Millions kneel before thy altars,
Millions to they temple flock.
Never yet was homage found
Unto King of earth or heaven
As to they so freely given--
Thee the monarch underground!