It was eighty nine weary years ago
That a nation’s young gave it pride and purpose,
As they stormed ashore at Anzac Cove
In the bloody peninsula of Gallipoli.

The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps,
Hallowed now beyond the wild imaginings
Of strong limbed summer hearted lads
Who lived and died that honour might not depart.

And now again on a bright April morning
As the sun rises, we gather at the cenotaph
To remember with dawn services
The Anzacs who gave our nation its nationhood.

In thousands of little country towns and hamlets
The sad faced remembering women gather,
And they recall the joy they had, and ever rue
That men have to fight for the freedom to live.

And the men who came back from the gates of hell
Talk only to each other of the Hun and the Turk,
For they alone know the faces of Mars,
And well they remember the Sea of Marmora.

If not Marmora, then Dunkirk and St Valery,
Narvik and Alamein, Arnhem and Crete,
And that bottom line in hell, Changi,
Where Anzacs showed they honoured their fathers.

Oh Hallowed day, twenty fifth of April,
When we know we live not in slavery,
And freedom and honour are the gifts they made.
For honour above all is our cherished past.

In aIl the little towns and villages small,
In the morning we do remember them
Who laid down their lives for our sakes,
And made us so thrillingly proud of the Anzacs.

Should another foe try to attack
And invade the free land of the Anzacs,
Then our young men, summer hearted and happy
Will respond to the call as they remember Anzac.


 

A version of this exists as Anzac Day 2000 where the first line reads “It was eighty nine weary years ago” so I presume it was recycled.

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