He Giveth His Beloved Sleep
The long day passes with its load of sorrow: In slumber deep I lay me down to rest until tomorrow Thank God for sleep. Thank God for all respite from weary toiling, From cares
Shearing With a Hoe
The track that led to Carmody’s is choked and overgrown, The suckers of the stringybark have made the place their own; The mountain rains have cut the track that once we used to know
A Bush Christening
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few, And men of religion are scanty, On a road never cross’d ‘cept by folk that are lost, One Michael Magee had a shanty. Now this
Our Mat
It came from the prison this morning, Close-twisted, neat-lettered, and flat; It lies the hall doorway adorning, A very good style of a mat. Prison-made! how the spirit is moven As we think of
Now Listen to Me and I'll Tell You My Views
Now listen to me and I’ll tell you my views concerning the African war, And the man who upholds any different views, the same is a ritten Pro-Boer! (Though I’m getting a little bit
The Passing of Gundagai
“I’ll introduce a friend!” he said, “And if you’ve got a vacant pen You’d better take him in the shed And start him shearing straight ahead; He’s one of these here quiet men. “He
Santa Claus in the Bush
It chanced out back at the Christmas time, When the wheat was ripe and tall, A stranger rode to the farmer’s gate A sturdy man and a small. “Rin doon, rin doon, my little
A Voice from the Town
I thought, in the days of the droving, Of steps I might hope to retrace, To be done with the bush and the roving And settle once more in my place. With a heart
"Ave Ceasar"
Long ago the Gladiators, When the call to combat came, Marching past the massed spectators, Hailed the Emp’ror with acclaim! Voices ringing with the fury Of the strife so soon to be, Cried, “O
The Last Parade
With never a sound of trumpet, With never a flag displayed, The last of the old campaigners Lined up for the last parade. Weary they were and battered, Shoeless, and knocked about; From under
Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run, But he should have gone there last week. He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun, But of turkey of duck saw never a one, For
The Dauntless Three
Chris Watson, of the Parliament, By his Caucus Gods he swore That the great Labor Party Should suffer wrong no more. By his Caucus Gods he swore it, And named a trysting day, And
Tom Collins
Who never drinks and never bets, But loves his wife and pays his debts And feels content with what he gets? Tom Collins. Who has the utmost confidence That all the banks now in
An Evening in Dandaloo
It was while we held our races Hurdles, sprints and steplechases Up in Dandaloo, That a crowd of Sydney stealers, Jockeys, pugilists and spielers Brought some horses, real heelers, Came and put us through.
What Have the Cavalry Done?
What have the cavalry done? Cantered and trotted about, Routin’ the enemy out, Causin’ the beggars to run! And we tramped along in the blazin’ heat, Over the veldt on our weary feet. Tramp,