While The Billy BoilsSearchA tent ’neath the gum trees? — O No! No!Give me the stream of which I am part —The red stream filling the old world’s heartWith life and laughter, with rapture and glow.Give me the battle the strivers kenWith comrades beside and the goal before.O tears and laughter and strife to the core —I love you! love you, cities of men!
Fair are the halls where the white stars peerThro’ green arched casements from kindly skies!But the cities of men have a thousand eyesThat beacon and beckon the distant near.With Life on the march and Time on the wingTo a wild world measure, what matter the odds?Or roses strewn by the hands of the gods?Or hyssop and rue that the seasons bring?
Sing not of far-folden hills agleam,Of sun-kissed valleys where Strife is not,The sylvan Nirvanas where ripe to rotThe fruits of Toil and the flowers of Dream.
A leaf among leaves I had rather be tossed’Mong the soul-ships cleaving a treacherous tide —Or freighted for ports of the Barmecide,Or bound for the deep sea docks o’ the lost.
A tent ’neath the gum trees? No! not I!I’ll march with the rabble, clean and unclean,Judas, Barrabas or Nazarene —And die as I lived when it’s time to die.Till from the banquet that mortals kenThe lights wane low and the guests depart —O tears and laughter and strife to the heart,I love you! love you, cities of men!