Works in the Bulletin 1913
Liberals were hopeful of a joyous and general resurrection at the next political call. - Joe Cook.
Now, Gabriel, whose name is Joe,
Blew loud his trumpet o'er the land.
And they who long had slept below
Rose from their graves on ev'ry hand,
And over-ran the earth in crowds.
With grave-clods clinging to their shrouds.
The ponderous old Tory gent,
Whose spacious fat had long been dust,
Distributed where'er he went
Effluvia of mould and must,
And fainted at his second birth
To note such Change upon the earth.
A resurrected Socialist
Gazed sadly round and shook his head:
"The same abuses still exist.
Reform is very slow," he said.
And clsoe behind the LAbor man
There stalked a Red Republican.
Poor old Freetrade, whose grave-clothes hung
In rags upon his wasted frame,
Wept loud to find himself among
Old friends who now denied his name,
And sought a champion fruitlessly
With Reid's Dry Dog for company.
The dead Black Labor Advocate
Arose and promptly threw a fit
To find the land in such a state:
Its color pleased him not a bit.
And, with a heavy heart, forthwith
He sought to interview Bruce Smith.
An old conservative whose law
Was, "Keep the worker in his place,"
Grew purple at the things he saw.
With horror on his ancient face
He gave one snort of wild disdain
And clamored for his grave again.
A dead Protectionist arose,
And, as he scanned the imports list,
He swore aloud and tore his cothes,
And madly shook a bony fist.
"They haven't got it yet!" he cried.
"'Twas promised long before I died!"
A Hempire Booster just reborn
Waved high a flag with loud "Hip, hips,"
And noted with an eye of scorn
Australia's new array of ships.
"Our battles will be fought," said he,
"And won upon the Nortern Sea!"
And represnted in that band
Was ev'ry Party ever seen:
Wreckers and savior of the land,
And all the shapes and shades between;
Statesmen of ev'ry kind and hue.
Indeed, it was a motley crew.
And lo, amongst the grisly crowd,
Conservatives and Democrats,
Arose a conflict shrill and loud,
Like to the noise of countless cats.
"The world would be at peace to-day,"
Each said. "If they had gone my way."
And then, with measured tread and slow,
His famous trumptet in his hand,
Came Gabriel, whose name is Joe,
Unto the resurrected band.
They saw him; and, with one accord,
"Brother!" the whole assembly roared.
"My friend!" exclaimed the Freetrade man.
"Mine!" yelled the staunch protectionist.
"Mine!" cried the Red Republican.
"Nay, mine!" declared the Socialist.
And all along the motley line
The echo ran: "He's mine! He's mine!"
And once again 'midst the reborn
Arose another wild affray.
Halos were twisted, shrouds wer torn.
Forgotten oaths rained thick that day.
"Hold! Hold!" cried Joe. "Attend to me,
Let me disclose my policy!"
Then on a tombstone mounted Joe,
And there expounded his Great Plan.
But, as he spoke, 'midst those below
A small, disgusted whisper ran:
"Ah, what's the use? It's just the same!
Office!....The old, old Party game!"
A Tory was the first to go.
"I've heard all this before," said he.
"I'd hoped for something fresh from Joe.
That's always been our policy!"
One more disgusted snort he gave,
Then snuggled down into his grave.
And one by one they slunk away,
And sought their divers cemet'ries.
And one by one each turned to say,
"We hate such silly tricks as these.
Don't blow that thing again, we pray,
Until you've something fresh to say."
The Bulletin, 18 September 1913, p6