While The Billy BoilsSearchCome, Little One, and sing to meA song our big wide land to bless,Around whose gentle parent-kneeWe’ve twined the flowers of kindliness.
Your eyes are clear Australian blue,Your voice like soft bush breezes blown;Her sunshine steeps the heart of you,Your tresses are the wattle’s own.
What, no Australian song, my child,No lay of love, no hymn of praise?And yet no mother ever smiledWith our dear country’s winsome ways:
You sing the songs of all the earth,Of bower and bloom and bird and bee;And has the land that gave you birthNo haunting, native melody?
Your poets’ eager pens awakeThe world-old themes of love and youth.The pulse of life, the joy, the ache,The pregnant line of earnest truth;
They dress you these in native guise,And interweave with loving handThe freshness of your rain-washed skies,The colours of your sunlit land.
What, no Australian song, my dear?And yet I’ve heard the cottage ringWith notes the world would pause to hear,When at their work your sisters sing.
They sing the songs of all the earth,Of tender sky, and dimpling sea,But all their strains have not the worthOf one Australian song, for me.
I’ve heard the harp the breezes playAmong the wilding wilga-trees;I’ve swept my world of care awayWhen bush birds lift their melodies;
I’ve seen the paddocks all ablazeWhen spring in golden glory comes,The purple hills of summer days,The autumn ochres through the gums;
I’ve seen the bright folk riding inO’er blooms that deck the clovered plain,And neath the trees, when moonbeams spinTheir silver-dappled counterpane.
What, no Australian song, my pet?No patriot note on native horn,To bind the hearts in kindness met,And link the leal Australian-born?
Yet every exile, wandering loneOur happy careless homes among,May live the best his heart has knownWhene’er his country’s songs are sung.
You sing the songs of all the earth,Of alien flower and alien tree:But no one, in my grief or mirth,Will sing Australian songs to me.
You sing of every land but mine,Where life is lifting neath the sun.Still all its spirit seems ashineIn you, my little laughing one.
Your eyes are clear Australian blue,Your face is towards the future set:The bounding, gladsome heart of youIs hers — and only hers, my pet.
Ah, Little One, what dreams would riseIf, nestled here upon my knee,You’d flash those soft Australian eyes,And sing your country’s songs to me!