While The Billy BoilsSearchHeed not the cock-sure tourist, Seeing with English eyes;Stroked at the banquet table Still, with the old stock lies—Pet of a social circle, Guest in a garden fair—Free of the first-class carriage— He learns no Australia there.
Heed not the Southern humbugs By the first saloons who come—From his work in the wide, hot scrub-lands The Australian goes not home.Give them the toadies’ knighthood, Fit for the souls they’ve got;Fear not to shame Australia For Australia knows them not.
Heed not the Sydney ‘dailies,’ Naught for the land they do;Heed not the Melbourne street crowd, For they know no more than you!Pent in the coastal cities, Still on the old-world track—They know naught of Australia, Of the heart of the great Out-Back.
But wait for the voice that gathers Strength by the western creeks!Heed ye the Out-Back shearers— List when the Great Bush speaks!Heed ye the black-sheep, working His own salvation free—And Oh! heed ye the sons of the exiles When they speak of the things to be!