He Had So Much Work To Do

Tell a simple little story of a settler in the West,
Where the soldier birds and farmers, and selectors never rest
While the sun shines, and they often work in rainy weather, too:
But its all about a young man who had so much work to do.

One of Masons sons, Jim Mason, and the straightest of the lot,
(They were all straight for that matter) Jim was working for old Scott,
(Scott that fired at Brummy Hughson, when the stick-ups used to be),
Jim was courting Mary Kelly down at Lowes, at Wilbertree.

Jim was trucking for a sawmill to make money for the home,
He was making, out of Mudgee, for the family to come,
And a load-chain snapped the switch-bar, and Black Anderson found Jim,
In the morning, in a creek-bed, with a log on top of him.

There was riding for the doctor, just the same old reckless race:
And a spring cart with a mattress came and took him from the place,
To the hospital at Gulgong, but they couldnt pull him through,
And Jim said It seems a pity, I, had so much work to do.

Theres the hut, its close-up finished; and the forty acres fenced;
And, Ive cleared enough for ploughin, but the dam is just commenced!
Then he said, and for a moment from the nurse his eyes he hid,
But Im glad we wasnt married, for there might have been a kid.

That was all, at least it wasnt for he didnt die until
He had fixed it up for Mary with a proper lawyer will,
And the Forty acre paddick, And I only hope, said he,
That shell get some decent feller when shes quite got over me.

Poor old broken-hearted Mason and his missus took their spell,
But another son and Mary finished Jims work very well.
They have grown-up sons and daughters, some on new selections, too,
And their hands and hearts are fitted for the work they have to do.

Now, my brothers! see the moral, lest the truth should come too late!
We are far too apt to quarrel with the writers fancied fate,
Damn the Past! and leave to-morrow: millions are worse off than you!
Think, ere you would drown your sorrow, of the work that you should do.

Though the fates have seemed unkind to our unhappy brotherhood,
We are too apt to be blind to our great power to do good;
Many thousands, starved and stinted, for a line of comfort come,
We can write, and have it printed, They must suffer and be dumb.

Think not of the hours we wasted in oblivion foully won,
Or the bitter cups we tasted. Let us work! that, when lifes done,
We shall have in bush or city, shaped our future course so true
That theyll say It is a pity, they had so much more to do.

Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson was an Australian writer and poet. Along with Banjo Paterson, he is among the best-known Australian poets and fiction writers of the colonial period and is often called Australia's 'greatest short story writer'. His works frequently document the lives and struggles of rural and outback Australians. Lawson's own life was marked by hardship and struggles including impaired hearing and financial difficulties, which influenced his realist depictions of Australian life. Some of his notable works include 'While the Billy Boils' and 'In the Days When the World was Wide.'

Henry Lawson

Cinderella

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Song Of The Old Bullock-Driver

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Squatter, Three Cornstalks, And The Well

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Shanty On The Rise

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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The Last Review

Turn the light down, nurse, and leave me, while I hold my last review,
For the Bush is slipping from me, and the town is going too:
Draw the blinds, the streets are lighted, and I hear the tramp of feet,
And Im weary, very weary, of the Faces in the Street.

In the dens of Grind and Heartbreak, in the streets of Never-Rest,
I have lost the scent and colour and the music of the West:
And I would recall old faces with the memories they bring,
Where are Bill and Jim and Mary and the Songs They used to Sing?

They are coming! They are coming! they are passing through the room
With the smell of gum leaves burning, and the scent of Wattle bloom!
And behind them in the timber, after dust and heat and toil,
Others sit beside the camp fire yarning while the billies boil.

...

Henry Lawson

Old Stone Chimney

The rising moon on the peaks was blending
Her silver light with the sunset glow,
When a swagman came as the day was ending
Along a path that he seemed to know.
But all the fences were gone or going,
The hand of ruin was everywhere;
The creek unchecked in its course was flowing,
For none of the old clay dam was there.

Here Time had been with his swiftest changes,
And husbandry had westward flown;
The cattle tracks in the rugged ranges
Were long ago with the scrub oergrown.
It must have needed long years to soften
The road, that as hard as rock had been;
The mountain path he had trod so often
Lay hidden now with a carpet green.

He thought at times from the mountain courses
He heard the sound of a bullock bell,
The distant gallop of stockme...

Henry Lawson

An Interlude Of Peace - The Fairy West

I.

We wrote and sang of a bush we never
Had known in youth in the Western land;
Of the dear old homes by the shining river,
The deep, clear creeks and the hills so grand.
The grass waved high on the flat and siding,
The wild flowers bloomed on the banks so fair,
And younger sons from the North came riding
To vine-clad homes in the gardens there.
We wrote and sang, and the Lord knows best,
Oh, those dear old songs of the fairy West!

We dreamed and sang of the bustling mother;
The brick-floored kitchen we saw so clear,
The pranks and jokes of the youngest brother,
The evening songs of our sisters dear.
The old man dozed in the chimney corner,
Or smoked and blinked at the cheerful blaze,
Or yarned with a crony, old Jack Horner,
Whod known...

Henry Lawson

The Old, Old Story And The New Order

They proved we could not think nor see,
They proved we could not write,
They proved we drank the day away
And raved through half the night.
They proved our stars were never up,
Theyve proved our stars are set,
Theyve proved we neer saw sorrows cup,
And theyre not happy yet.

They proved that in the Southern Land
We all led vicious lives;
Theyve proved we starved our children, and,
Theyve proved we beat our wives.
Theyve proved we never worked, and we
Were never out of debt;
Theyve proved us bad as we can be
And theyre not happy yet.

The Daily Press, with paltry power,
For reasons understood,
Have aye sought to belittle our
Unhappy brotherhood.
Because we fought in days like these,
Where rule the upper tens,
Be...

Henry Lawson

The Old, Old Story And The New Order

They proved we could not think nor see,
They proved we could not write,
They proved we drank the day away
And raved through half the night.
They proved our stars were never up,
Theyve proved our stars are set,
Theyve proved we neer saw sorrows cup,
And theyre not happy yet.

They proved that in the Southern Land
We all led vicious lives;
Theyve proved we starved our children, and,
Theyve proved we beat our wives.
Theyve proved we never worked, and we
Were never out of debt;
Theyve proved us bad as we can be
And theyre not happy yet.

The Daily Press, with paltry power,
For reasons understood,
Have aye sought to belittle our
Unhappy brotherhood.
Because we fought in days like these,
Where rule the upper tens,
Be...

Henry Lawson

The Battling Days

So, sit you down in a straight-backed chair, with your pipe and your wife content,
And cross your knees with your wisest air, and preach of the days mis-spent;
Grown fat and moral apace, old man! you prate of the change since then,
In spite of all, Id as lief be back in those hard old days again.

They were hard old days; they were battling days; they were cruel at times, but then,
In spite of all, I would rather be back in those hard old days again.
The land was barren to sow wild oats in the days when we sowed our own,
(Twas little we thought or our friends believed that ours would ever be sown)

But the wild oats wave on their stormy path, and they speak of the hearts of men,
I would sow a crop if I had my time in those hard old days again.
We travel first, or we go salo...

Henry Lawson