It surely cannot be too soon, and never is too late,
It tones with all Australias tune to praise ones native State,
And so I bring an old refrain from days of posts and rails,
And lift the good old words again, for Sunny New South Wales.
She bore me on her tented fields, and wore my youth away,
And little gold of all she yields repays my toil to-day;
By track and camp and bushmans hutby streets where courage fails
Ive sung for all Australia, but my hearts in New South Wales.
The waratah and wattle there in all their glory grow
And if they bloom on hills elsewhere, Im not supposed to know,
The tales that other States may tellI never hear the tales!
For I, her son, have sinned as well as Bonnie New South Wales.
I only know her heart is good to sweetheart and to mate,
And pregnant with our nationhood from Sunset to the Gate;
I only know her sons sail home on every ship that sails,
Though round the world ten times they roam from dear old New South Wales.
