US. The bugle called. They went away. They fought, they died, they won to fame.

They saw the Turkish lightnings play; Their hands were strong to smite and slay, And honor loved their name. We praised their deeds at breakfast time, We praised them in the afternoon, We praised them at the midnights chime, We praised them both in beer and rhyme Beneath the sun and moon. We called them us, and said that we Had faced the shot and shrieking shell, That we had wrought for all to see Deeds that must live in history And pubs and trams as well. We praised us loud at break of day, We praised us when the sun had set, We praised us when we knelt to pray In solemn bars where none might stay, We praised us dry and wet. The bugle called. The blood was raw. We cursed the foemans craven heart. Tremendous glory we foresaw, And mentioned with elastic jaw Our great Australian part. The wagging of our tireless tongue Was set to one eternal string. We boasted as when earth was young, When beer-soaked harpers nightly flung Their soap-wreaths round the king. The years went by; the ages grew; The war was shut in historys bag. The world forgot what we could do, And future epochs only knew The Great Australian Brag.
Curse o Moses Pseudonym of David McKee Wright N.S.W. The Bulletin, 9th March 1916, p. 14.