Let others sing praise of their sea-girted isles, <br />But give me the bush with its limitless miles; <br />Then it’s over the ranges and into the West, <br />To the scenes of wild boyhood; we love them the best. <br /> <br />We’ll ride and we’ll ride from the city afar, <br />To the plains where the cattle and sheep stations are; <br />Where stockmen ride hard, and the drover starts forth <br />On his long, lonely journey ’way up in the North. <br /> <br />When your money is low, and your luck has gone down, <br />There’s no place so lone as the streets of a town; <br />There’s nothing but worry, and dread and unrest, <br />So we’ll over the ranges and into the West. <br /> <br />The drought in the West may spread ruin around, <br />But the dread drought of life in the city is found; <br />And I’d far sooner tread on the long dusty way, <br />Where each one you meet says, “Good day, mate, good day.”<br /><br />Henry Lawson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/over-the-ranges-and-into-the-west/
