The colours of the setting sun Withdrew across the Western land— He raised the sliprails, one by on… And shot them home with trembling… Her brown hands clung—her face gre…

OH, this is a song of the old lig… And this is a song for the old lig… That came to my heart to comfort m… And here is a hand to the good old… And this is a song for the camp-fi…

They cheered him from the wharf—it… His hand went to his scarf—his tho… Oh, he was “Jolly Good”, they san… The money lender stood unknown amo… He’d taken him aside, while trembl…

MY father-in-law is a careworn ma… And a silent man is he; But he summons a smile as well as… Whenever he meets with me. The sign we make with a silent sha…

TWO COUPLES are drifting the… (Men of the world know well) From the ballroom glare as the nig… (Men of the world can tell). Many are round them who know, and…

There’s a class of men (and women)… Cunning, treacherous, suspicious—f… Brainy, yet without the courage to… Cautiously they feel their way beh… If you save a bit of money, and yo…

They’re shifting old North Sydney… Perhaps ’tis just as well— They’re carting off the houses Where the old folks used to dwell. Where only ghosts inhabit

WE WANT the man who will lead t… The man who will pioneer. We have no use for the gentleman, Or the cheating Cheap-Jack here; We have no room for the men who sh…

His old clay pipe stuck in his mou… His hat pushed from his brow, His dress best fitted for the Sou… I think I see him now; And when the city streets are stil…

Down here where the ships loom lar… The gloom when the sea-storms veer… Down here on the south-west margin Of the western hemisphere, Where the might of a world-wide oc…

The night too quickly passes And we are growing old, So let us fill our glasses And toast the Days of Gold; When finds of wondrous treasure

I scorn the man, a fool at most, And ignorant and blind, Who loves to go about and boast “He understands mankind.” I thought I had that knowledge to…

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

Three bushmen one morning rode up… And one of them called for the dri… They’d only returned from a trip t… And, eager to greet them, the land… He absently poured out a glass of…

It is night-time when the saddest… When outside the printing office t… When the love-wrong is accomplishe… That the blackest lies are written… ’Tis the time of “late editions”.…