On the Runs (1901)
[For The Worker]
They may sing their songs of sailors, of the battle and the breeze,Of men who made old England's glory, or who sat at home at ease ;
But there's one that they're forgetting,
Though no doubt they've often met him :
He's the man that does the sweating- On the runs. For in days of doubt and danger, when death's grinning spectres taunt,
He's the man that's up and; doing, though no honored banners flaunt :
Into unknown lands advancing,
Death by thirst or bushfire chancing,
While the atmosphere is dancing On the runs. When the sun shines while and glaring on
The blocks of stone undressed,
And the countryside is thirsty, and with dusty willies tressed ;
When the bushfires burst and battle,
And the flying cinders settle,
That's the time they show their mettle On the runs. Driving flocks of frightened woollies from the backwalks of the plains,
Taking weary midnight watches out in winter's chilly rains;
When the pale, white moons come over,
Looking down on sheep drover,
Soothe the rest of tired-out rover- On the runs. When the magpie sings at midnight on the borders of the scrub,
Tinkling bells of browsing bullocks from the paddocks of the pub.
Waft their music o'er the clearing,
Bushmen's wakeful fancies cheering,
For they're signs that fancies is hearing On the runs. When our droving days are over, and the yawning valley nears,
And our comrades have gone under in the gleaning of the years—
Strike the harp with cheerful fingers, there is little room for tears ;
For we've fought our battles strongly, and our fears,
Making light of thirst that parches,
Looking back on miles and marches- On the runs. C. ISAACSON. Notes From the Wagga NSW Newspaper The Worker 18 Mar 1905 p. 8.