We learnt the creed at Hungerford… We learnt the creed at Bourke; We learnt it in the good times And learnt it out of work. We learnt it by the harbour-side

Across the stony ridges, Across the rolling plain, Young Harry Dale, the drover, Comes riding home again. And well his stock-horse bears him…

Have you seen the bush by moonligh… Blackened log and stump and saplin… Here a patch of glassy water; ther… Have you heard the still voice cal… “I’m the Mother-Bush that bore yo…

’Tis strange on such a peaceful da… With white clouds flying o’er, That foreign boats are in the bay As prisoners of war. The Harbour, where they quietly l…

Sons of the South, awake! arise! Sons of the South, and do. Banish from under your bonny skies Those old-world errors and wrongs… Making a hell in a Paradise

Now up and down the siding brown The great black crows are flyin’, And down below the spur, I know, Another 'milker’s’ dyin’; The crops have withered from the g…

By his paths through the parched d… Hot rides and the terrible tramps; By the hunger, the thirst, the pri… Of his work in the further most ca… By his worth in the light that sha…

It’s oh! for a rivet in marriage b… And a splice in the knot untied— The sanctity of the marriage tie Is growing more sanctified! They’re getting mixed up in societ…

He comes from out the ages dim— The good Samaritan; I somehow never pictured him A fat and jolly man; But one who’d little joy to glean,

James Patrick O’Hara, the Justic… He bossed the P.M. and he bossed… A parent, a deacon, a landlord was… A townsman of weight was O’Hara,… He gave out the prizes, foundation…

Oh! this is a joyful dirge, my fri… And this is a clamour of Victory,… It isn’t a Yelp of the Battlefiel… But an ode to the Things that the… ’Tis a triolet of the Tomb, you b…

It was somewhere in September, an… When I came, in search of 'copy’,… 'Come-and-have-a-drink’ we’ll call… And ‘twas raining, for a wonder, u… ’Neath the public-house verandah…

Now this is the creed from the Bo… Should be simple and plain to a du… “If a man’s in a hole you must pas… Were he jail-bird or gentleman onc…

An hour before the sun goes down Behind the ragged boughs, I go across the little run And bring the dusty cows; And once I used to sit and rest

It was old Jerry Brown, Who’d an office in town, And he used to get jocular, very; And he’d go to the Shore When they’d serve him no more,