There are scenes in the distance w… On the desolate flats where gaunt… Where the brooding old ridge rises… From his dark lonely gullies of st… There are voice-haunted gaps, ever…

Republicans! the time is coming! Listen to the distant drumming! Hearken to the whispers humming In the troubled atmosphere. Ye are born to do the toiling;

Macleay Street looks to Mosman, Across the other side, With brave asphalted pavements And roadway clean and wide. Macleay Street hath its mansions,

I met her on the Lachlan Side— A darling girl I thought her, And ere I left I swore I’d win The free-selector’s daughter. I milked her father’s cows a month…

Behold! the biased foes of Right Are conscious of their danger, They’re startled by the dawning li… So very long a stranger. And fearing for their rotting laws…

The breezes blow on the river belo… And the fleecy clouds float high, And I mark how the dark green gum… The bright blue dome of the sky. The rain has been, and the grass i…

We, three men of commerce, Striving wealth to raise, See but little promise In the coming days; Though our hearts are brittle,

These are songs of the Friends I… And the Foes, too, in part; These are songs that were mostly r… And songs from my heart. Yours truly,

Emblems of storm and danger, Spindrift and mountain stern, Plants that welcome the stranger— Seaweed, tussock, and fern. Known to the world-wide ranger,

It surely cannot be too soon, and… It tones with all Australia’s tun… And so I bring an old refrain fro… And lift the good old words again,… She bore me on her tented fields,…

When the caravans of wool-teams cl… On a spur among the mountains stoo… It was built of bark and saplings,… But ‘twas good enough for bushmen… Just a quiet little shanty kept by…

The world has had enough of bards… ‘Tis time the people passed a law… For ‘twould be lovely if their fri… Those bards of ’tears’ and 'vanish… They say that life’s an awful thin…

It was pleasant up the country, C… For you sought the greener patches… And you curse the trams and buses… Though you know the squalid city n… But we lately heard you singing of…

The short hour’s halt is ended, The red gone from the west, The broken wheel is mended, And the dead men laid to rest. Three days have we retreated