Item 06: Frank H. Molony diary, 25 March 1918-7 August 1918 - Page 5

[Page 5]

These there were, who lost their everything.
Gave all! and left the earth a vaster sphere
In memories: …
'Twas not the shed of blood, but fearless mirth
That set a wondrous pattern to the earth.
And these, within a corner that is theirs,
Are laid in smiling peace – a rich content.
The pain has been – the glory is.
Leon Gellert

They gave their all.
Let you who pass, saluting here their names,
See that through you no slur, nor stain, nor shame
Falls on the land for which they gave their lives –
Australia.
G.M. Johnston

They died; to live imperishably in our hearts, achieving grandly, sacrificing nobly; their souls are God's; their deeds our race's long inheritance.
F.W.

Australia! Measure not the lives of these soldier sons of yours by length of days, but by their glorious deeds, and thank God for the mothers who reared such men to set your standard high.
Six-and-Eight.

What is life? But a day upon a waggon behind a lazy team of bullocks and a camp at night beneath its shelter from which there is no awakening to a mortal day; but a soldier's death upon the field of battle is a glorious gallop at the dawn of day with a leap into Eternity.
Edgar L. Stevens.

Anthony O'Daly, J.S. [James Stephens]
Since your limbs were laid out
The stars do not shine,
The fish leap not out
In the waves.
On our meadows the dew
Does not fall in the morn,
For O'Daly is dead:
Not a flower can be born,
Nor a word can be said,
Nor a tree have a leaf;
Anthony after you
There is nothing to do,
There is nothing but grief.

Mary Ruane, J.S.

The sky-like girl whom we knew!
She dressed herself to go to the fair,
In a dress of white and blue:
A white lace cap, and ribbons white
She wore in her hair.
She does not hear in the night
Her mother crying for her,
Where,
Deep down in the sea,
She rolls and lingers to and fro
Unweariedly.

"The Dead"

We are such forest trees, and our fair boughs,
Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves,
But eagles golden-feathered, who do tower
Above us in their beauty, and must reign,
In right thereof.
Keats, Hyperion