Over the Range by Andrew Barton Paterson — Read

Little bush maiden, wondering-eyed, / Playing alone in the creek-bed dry, / In the small green flat on every side / Walled in by the Moonbi ranges high; / Tell us the tale of your lonely life, / 'Mid the great grey forests that know no change. / 'I never have left my home,' she said, / 'I have never been over the Moonbi Range.

'Father and mother are both long dead, / And I live with granny in yon wee place.' / 'Where are your father and mother?' we said. / She puzzled awhile with thoughtful face, / Then a light came into the shy brown eye, / And she smiled, for she thought the question strange / On a thing so certain -- 'When people die / They go to the country over the range.'