While The Billy BoilsSearchPeace to the ashes that lieDown where the jarrah-trees old,Stretching their arms to the sky,Shower their leaves on the mould.Untended the scrub-scattered flocksShall bleat where the eaglehawks soar,The surf on the rampart-like rocks,A requiem rugged shall roar.Peace to the soul now asleep,Waiting God’s message elate,Peace, while a vigil we keep —Bushwoman, Sister and Mate.
Never more shall we gallop all outBy the fringe of the paper-bark grey,Never more shall we wheel to her shoutThat told of the boomer at bay!The bush bullock sprang to her lash,When her stock-pony reefed at the rails,The kangaroo fell to the flash,The dagger-fanged boar at the bails.Racing where saddle-tracks wind,Spurning the gap and the gate,Yet, withal, she was gentle and kind,Bushwoman, Sister and Mate.
An angel of succour she cameTo the galloping summons and call,Fighting the flood and the flame,Giving the beat of her all.Carrying comfort and calmTo sufferers, distant and near,The Mistress of Peppermint FarmFlung aside hesitant fear.Soothing with reprimand kind,Jealousy, anger and hate;To all but sweet excellence blind —Bushwoman, Sister and Mate.