(7 September 1876 - 22 June 1938 / Auburn, South Australia)

The Bulldog Breed

'It's dogged as does it.' They've made it a saying,
A motto to hold in that tight little isle
To hold in their fighting and toiling and playing
And stick to the job with a tight little smile.
As fortune seems bleakest they cut out complaining
They cut out the cackle and dig in their toes
As, inch upon inch, the lost ground they're regaining,
And just how they manage it nobody knows.

'It's dogged as does it.' There's something heroic,
Unseen and unsung in this desperate drive;
With mien of the meek and the mind of a stoic,
They win their chief goal when they seem least alive.
The nations behold, yet can scarcely believe it
As Britain wins thro' to a triumph again;
And, wondering, ask how those dullards achieve it
In that darkest hour when all effort seems vain.

'Its dogged as does it.' No pause for regretting,
For sighing or sobbing she seeks in the fray;
But silently, steadily, all else forgetting,
Stays on the job till the clouds clear away.
Then, rubbing its eyes in incredulous wander,
The world scarce believes such a miracle true
As, snatchin' for victory, e'en from a blunder,
The tight little island again muddles thro'.

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