16
THE NATION BUILDERS
To North, on the seas of summer, where the pearl
flotillas swim,
To East, where the axe is ringing in the heart of the
ranges grim,
On the plains where the free wind bloweth by
never a tree or shrub,
On the pine-topped slopes where the settler carves a
home in the tropic scrub,
On fields where the miner sleeps unstirred by the
ceaseless monotone
And crash of the stampers night and day at work on
the milk-white stone,
'Tis war and stress, with never a pause to mourn for
a stout heart gone,
Till the souls of the Nation Builders shall know that
the work is done.
flotillas swim,
To East, where the axe is ringing in the heart of the
ranges grim,
On the plains where the free wind bloweth by
never a tree or shrub,
On the pine-topped slopes where the settler carves a
home in the tropic scrub,
On fields where the miner sleeps unstirred by the
ceaseless monotone
And crash of the stampers night and day at work on
the milk-white stone,
'Tis war and stress, with never a pause to mourn for
a stout heart gone,
Till the souls of the Nation Builders shall know that
the work is done.
On the deck of the lonely light-ship, in the sand of
the new-found West,
Where strong men fall and die like sheep in the thirst
of the golden quest,
By the dry stock routes, by the burnt-up creeks, where
the cattle sink and fail,
By the coral reefs, where the bêching boats swing on
'neath the sun-tanned sail,
the new-found West,
Where strong men fall and die like sheep in the thirst
of the golden quest,
By the dry stock routes, by the burnt-up creeks, where
the cattle sink and fail,
By the coral reefs, where the bêching boats swing on
'neath the sun-tanned sail,
