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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To The Theoretical Selector</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">WOULD YOU be the King, the strong man, first in council and in toil,<br>To the men who war with nature for possession of the soil?<br>Take an axe upon your shoulder, take a billy and a rug,<br>And go forward in the forest where no man has cut and dug,<br>Where the scrub-ferns grow like magic, and the gum-trees you must fell<br>Have their topmost boughs in heaven, and their tap-roots deep as hell.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Take the land the Powers would cheerfully devote to Smith or Brown,<br>Two miles or more from water and a hundred miles from town;<br>Fell, and scrub, and hew, and hunger, and when seven weeks are gone<br>You may have a clearing large enough to build a hut upon.<br>Then you furnish it with saplings and you carpet it with loam,<br>And you bring the kids and missus to their charming country home!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Rising early with the jackass, like a man of pith and push,<br>With axe in hand you sally forth to face the stubborn bush.<br>’Tis a mighty undertaking, and the odds are hard enough,<br>But the settler must be stubborn, and the settler must be tough,<br>And he strikes from morn till even with his strong arm bare and brown,<br>And he counts his gain by inches when the big gum rattles down.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">So you slave and strive and suffer, for it’s fearful work and slow<br>Ere the cabbages are solid and the spuds have room to grow.<br>By and bye to fruit and fowls and swine, as city swells advise,<br>You resort to make a fortune; but the venture proves unwise,<br>For the fruit-trees blight and wither, and the pigs die in their pens,<br>And the drought destroys the ducklings, and the dingoes eat the hens.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Years go on, and still the bush-wall rings your narrow clearing round,<br>But you’ve won a few good acres and a crop is on the ground,<br>And you harvest single-handed, and you rake the stubble clean,<br>For you lack the cash for wages and the marvellous machine;<br>Still you’re thankful for small mercies—though you’re often sorely pushed—<br>When the missus hasn’t sunstroke and the baby isn’t bushed.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=374822" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Then, at last, when worn with work, and warped with years, and very grey,<br>When your mastering the mortgage and the railroad runs your way,<br>When your farm is looking home-like, and your sons are grown-up men,<br>You may talk to brown-faced farmers—you may try to teach them then.<br>And if any kid-gloved critic starts to give you points on grain,<br>And a little hot-house farming does to make your errors plain,<br>You will rise up with a waddy, and you’ll sympathise with Cain.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Edward+George+Dyson">Edward George Dyson</a></strong></div>