William Pettigrew: The ANZAC poem

Now, this is the creed of the ANZAC men,
The men with the hearts of gold,
What we won from the foe, by the steel and the gun,
By the steel and the gun we hold.

From the heights afar, and the sky above,
There may come the hail of death,
But we yield no yard of the ground we won,
Till the last man yields his breath.

We are few --- who should have been many here,
And our ranks are thinning fast,
But, by the Christ who died, for each boy who falls,
We will take toll to the last.

We are fighting now for the folks at home,
For the land from which we came,
And we are hanging on, and fighting hard,
And we are dying hard and game.

There are long quiet nights for gallant mates,
Who have fought, and fighting fell,
But for every one who has dropped his gun,
There's a fresh Hun face in Hell.

Aye, this is the creed of the ANZAC men,
The men with the hearts of gold,
What we won from the foe, by the steel and the gun,
By the steel and the gun we hold.

            Pte. William Pettigrew [21.5.1887---21.9.1917]