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C J Dennis - Swingin` Douglas
Work rating: Low

There`s a breeze about the mountains, it is singin` in the trees
A song to mock the little men who chose to live at ease,
Or play at toil or pleasure where their fellows crowd and push;
But put my good axe in my hand and leave me in the bush -
And it`s: Hey, boy!
                      Hi, boy!
                               Heave it in the wood!
Oh, the green bush is around us, and the smell of it is good,
The great bush is before us, and a giant`s task to do,
And hearty men and hefty men alone may see it thro`.
So it`s: Ho, boys!
                    Hey, boys!
                               Swing it with a will!
For the saws are howlin` hungry for logs down at the mill.


The hope for man is honest work, an` out-o`doors his place,
The good brown earth beneath him an` the clean breeze in his face;
The work for man is with his hands, his muscles strong as steel,
When health an` strength within him make him feel as he should feel.
Oh it`s: Hey, boys!
                      Shake her up!
                                    Twenty logs to get!
The tail-rope`s fouled a saplin` an` the boss is in a sweat.
He`s swearin` like a trooper, for they`re falling grubby wood;
The boy has broke the whistle-string, which isn`t for his good.
But it`s: Hey, boys!
                      Slog along!
                                    Watch her when she goes!
An` ringin` down the gully runs the echo of the blows.


High above us, on the hill-top, where the tall trees rake the sky,
The cockatoos are craaking and the crimson parrots cry.
From below us, where the sawdust by the mill is gleamin` brown,
Comes the dronin` of the twin-saws while the boys are breakin` down.
An` it`s: Ho, boys!
                      Let her go!
                                 Watch her, how she sways!
An` the loggin` truck goes lurchin` down the crazy wooden ways,
With the driver at the brake-rope - Oh, that truckie has a nerve!
An` he howls a merry "Hoop-la!" as she swings around a curve.
Then it`s: Hey, boys!
                      Plug ahead!
                                 Feed the greedy mill!
We have fed her logs in dozens, but she`s shriekin` for `em still.


When you test the strength that`s in you, oh, it`s good to be alive
In the green bush, the clean bush, an` with your fellows strive...
There`s Simon, of the sniggin` gang, in trouble with his log.
An` he slews her with a cant-hook as she wallows in a bog.
But it`s: Hey, boys!
                     Steady, boys!
                                  Haul away the slack!
An` the shackled giant`s snakin` down the deeply-furrowed track.
Now the boss he swears to heaven that the timber`s all bewitched,
An` Simon toils like seven men to get the tackle hitched.
An` it`s: Ho, boys!
                     Right away!
                                  Slew her at the nose!
An` the old winch coughs an` clatters every time the whistle blows.


The crowded world may call at times, but here I`d rather be,
With the strong men, the brown men, who work along with me;
With the good tan on their faces an` the clear look in their eyes
That come to men who ply their trade beneath the open skies:
The rough men,
               The straight men,
                                 With coarse words on the tongue.
An` hearts that work can never break an` minds that must kepe young.
Oh, it`s swingin`, swingin` Douglas with a strength you glory in,
Where willin` hands are honoured hands, an shirkin` is the sin -
An` it`s: Hi, boys!
                    Clear, boys!
                                More to feed the mill!
An` the great tree whistles downward to a crash that shakes the hill.
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