To a town in Southern land Light of purse I come and lone; And I pause awhile, and stand By a pedestal of stone; And I bend my head and bow

All is well—in a prison—to-night,… I must speak, for the sake of my h… For what does it matter to me if t… I’m as free as I ever shall be—th… I am free! I am haunted no more b…

It was built of bark and poles, an… Where each leak in rainy weather m… And the walls were mostly cracks l… There was little need for windows… Then we rode to school and back by…

THE Salvation Army does good business in some of the outback towns of the great pastoral wastes of Australia. There’s the thoughtless, careless generosity of the bushman, whose pockets ...

'Tis the song of many husbands, an… That you cannot call me coward now… I have written much for women, whe… But the men who made bad matches c… Oh, the men who made bad matches a…

I have sinned, like others, blindl… And my best friends say it kindly,… Shall I fly the paltry spirit of… While the battle-drums are beating… Down the street where all men know…

I’ll tell you what you wanderers,… Don’t look into a good girl’s eyes… It’s hard to go away alone and lea… It’s hard to travel steerage when… To reach a place when times are ba…

There’s such a lot of work to do,… I’m scribbling this against a book… It strikes me that I’ll scribble… And write my last lines so perchan… There’s lots of things to come and…

The rooster is a brainless dude, a… The hen’s an awful fool we know, t… She’ll flutter, cackling, anywhere… And try to hatch a door-knob, too,… The turkey is of small account, we…

On the moonlighted decks there are… While smoothly the steamer is hold… And the old folks are chatting on… And the lads and the lassies go st… Some gaze half-entranced on the be…

With the frame of a man, and the f… And the great, wide, wondering, in… With his hideous dress and his hea… And the Warder says, in a softene… ’Tis a ghastly travesty of drill—o…

Where shall we go for prophecy? W… The holiday street is crowded, pav… Band and banner pass by us, and th… But that great waiting silence is… Where is the cheering and laughter…

I long for the streets but the Lo… For there I am never a saint; There are lovable characters out i… With humour heroic and quaint; And, be it Up Country, or be it…

A fresh sweet-scented beauty Came tripping down the street; She was as fair a vision As you might chance to meet. A masher raised his cady

They were hanging men in Buckland… The parson from his pulpit and the… They were hanging men and brothers… When a quiet man from Buckland ro… Not a young man in his glory fille…