Leeton Town
We lie at rest when the day is late, on stretchers set on verandahs wide,
With a clear canal by our garden gate, and fruit-trees growing on either side;
With native saplings that seem to look to a future grand with a faith that's blind,
And a clear canal like an English brook, with a rustic bridge to the lane behind;
And the pine-trees run by the long red road, straight to the rim where the sun went down —
And we, for a season, have dropped each load of care and sorrow by Leeton Town.
We come from ages of fruitless work — from hopes and day-dreams that perished there —
From the North of Queensland, and West-o'-Bourke, from seas of sand and the prickly pear,
From plains where the strongest are fighting still, as our fathers fought in the long ago —
From the poisonous surface of Broken Hill as deadly to life as the depths below.
Through blinding heat and the dust and sand, or winter's cold and the rain and bog,
We come with the trap and the three-in-hand: the wife and furniture, " kids " and dog,
From loss and ruin, from far and wide, a beaten band but a fighting band; —
From the southern coasts and the Queensland side — a long month's drag to the Promised Land.
We fought grim battles 'gainst lies and greed, and lost and won in the brave years dead,
When the Union Flag was a flag indeed, and men were hunted from shed to shed.
And some might weaken and men might tire of gaol and black list and baited trap;
But we straightened our lines by Mulga Wire that none could censor, for none could " trap " ,
(We call each other by different names we " went by " then when my hair was brown —
And my mate's black — and like steel our frames — long years ere they dreamed of a Leeton Town.)
And we often talk in voices low of hard and soft cases we used to know;
And many a bounder and many a " cow " who is " holding a good position now " .
And old mates vanished and old mates dead — and some because of the lives they led;
And it's sad to think — Ah! it's sad to think — that the best and the bravest were ruined by drink!
Their graves are found — or they are not found — long ways Northward and long ways round;
But, sometimes, after the sun goes down, their shades seem to hover by Leeton Town.
The shearer and farmer we know by sight — can tell by the way that they walk or stand;
The miner — strong in his miner's right, and the drover — once of the Overland.
We are grey men, grizzled before our time — we are young men old, but with boys' hearts yet;
We know the strength of the Truth sublime — and laugh at the rest while they fume and fret;
We have done our duty and do it still, while kings and kaisers go up, go down;
And from Broken Promise to Broken Hill we claim our places by Leeton Town.
With a clear canal by our garden gate, and fruit-trees growing on either side;
With native saplings that seem to look to a future grand with a faith that's blind,
And a clear canal like an English brook, with a rustic bridge to the lane behind;
And the pine-trees run by the long red road, straight to the rim where the sun went down —
And we, for a season, have dropped each load of care and sorrow by Leeton Town.
We come from ages of fruitless work — from hopes and day-dreams that perished there —
From the North of Queensland, and West-o'-Bourke, from seas of sand and the prickly pear,
From plains where the strongest are fighting still, as our fathers fought in the long ago —
From the poisonous surface of Broken Hill as deadly to life as the depths below.
Through blinding heat and the dust and sand, or winter's cold and the rain and bog,
We come with the trap and the three-in-hand: the wife and furniture, " kids " and dog,
From loss and ruin, from far and wide, a beaten band but a fighting band; —
From the southern coasts and the Queensland side — a long month's drag to the Promised Land.
We fought grim battles 'gainst lies and greed, and lost and won in the brave years dead,
When the Union Flag was a flag indeed, and men were hunted from shed to shed.
And some might weaken and men might tire of gaol and black list and baited trap;
But we straightened our lines by Mulga Wire that none could censor, for none could " trap " ,
(We call each other by different names we " went by " then when my hair was brown —
And my mate's black — and like steel our frames — long years ere they dreamed of a Leeton Town.)
And we often talk in voices low of hard and soft cases we used to know;
And many a bounder and many a " cow " who is " holding a good position now " .
And old mates vanished and old mates dead — and some because of the lives they led;
And it's sad to think — Ah! it's sad to think — that the best and the bravest were ruined by drink!
Their graves are found — or they are not found — long ways Northward and long ways round;
But, sometimes, after the sun goes down, their shades seem to hover by Leeton Town.
The shearer and farmer we know by sight — can tell by the way that they walk or stand;
The miner — strong in his miner's right, and the drover — once of the Overland.
We are grey men, grizzled before our time — we are young men old, but with boys' hearts yet;
We know the strength of the Truth sublime — and laugh at the rest while they fume and fret;
We have done our duty and do it still, while kings and kaisers go up, go down;
And from Broken Promise to Broken Hill we claim our places by Leeton Town.
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