Under the spreading deficit, <br />The Fitzroy Smithy stands; <br />The smith, a spendthrift man is he, <br />With too much on his hands; <br />But the muscles of his brawny jaw <br />Are strong as iron bands. <br />Pay out, pay put, from morn till night, <br />You can hear the sovereigns go; <br />Or you'll hear him singing "Old Folks at Home", <br />In a deep bass voice and slow, <br />Like a bullfrog down in the village well <br />When the evening sun is low. <br /> <br />The Australian going "home" for loans <br />Looks in at the open door; <br />He loves to see the imported plant, <br />And to hear the furnace roar, <br />And to watch the private firms smash up <br />Like chaff on the threshing-floor. <br /> <br />Toiling, rejoicing, borrowing, <br />Onward through life he goes; <br />Each morning sees some scheme begun <br />That never sees its close. <br />Something unpaid for, someone done, <br />Has earned a night's repose.<br /><br />Andrew Barton Paterson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-fitzroy-blacksmith/
