Australia, Great south land,
Why have you refused the gifts of My hand?

I held out My love to you, but you turned away.
You became proud, and hardened your heart.

Your mouth is full of idle words,
Like 'them's the breaks' or 'she'll be right mate!'

You look out over the land and pat yourselves on the back,
Admiring the works of your hands.

Can you not see that your rivers run dry?
Do you not discern that which My hand has done?

I will hold back the rains and let your land burn.
I will tear down your bridges and shake your places of worship.

Your opera houses and art centres are repulsive to Me,
And the immorality in your cities is a stench in My nostrils.

Your leaders seek only to line their own pockets.
Their lying and deceitfulness grieves Me.

But see, I am going to do a new thing.
Turn and watch, see the things I will do.

Stand, you Watchmen. .........the time is at hand.

© 29/9/1994 Peter Taekema