WE THROW us down on the dusty plain
When the gold has gone from the west,
But we rise and tramp on the track again,
For were tiredtoo tired to rest.
Darker and denser the shadows fall
That are cramping each aching brow
Scotty the Wrinkler! youve solved it all,
Give us a wrinkle now.
But no one lieth so still in death
As the rover who never could rest;
And hes free of thought as hes free of breath
And his hands are crossed on his breast.
You have earned your restyou brave old tramp
As I hope in the end we will.
Ah me! Twas a long, long way to camp
Since the days when they called you Phil.
What have they done with your quaint old soul
Now they have passed you through?
But we cant but think, as our swags we roll,
That its right, old man, with you;
You learned some truth in the storm and strife
Of the outcast battlers ways;
And you left some light in the vagabonds life
Ere you vanished beyond the haze.
One by one in the far ahead,
In the smothering haze of drought
Where hearts are loyal and hopes are dead
The forms of our mates fade out.
Tis a distant goal and a weary load,
But we follow the Wrinkler home,
As, staggering into the short, straight road,
From the blind branch tracks we come.
We leave our mark and we play our part
In the nations pregnant days,
And we find a place in the Bushmans heart
Ere we vanish beyond the haze.
