In Defence of the Bush by Andrew Barton Paterson

So you're back from up the country, Mister Townsman, where you went, / And you're cursing all the business in a bitter discontent; / Well, we grieve to disappoint you, and it makes us sad to hear / That it wasn't cool and shady -- and there wasn't plenty beer, / And the loony bullock snorted when you first came into view; / Well, you know it's not so often that he sees a swell like you; / And the roads were hot and dusty, and the plains were burnt and brown, / And no doubt you're better suited drinking lemon-squash in town.

Yet, perchance, if you should journey down the very track you went / In a month or two at furthest you would wonder what it meant, / Where the sunbaked earth was gasping like a creature in its pain / You would find the grasses waving like a field of summer grain, / And the miles of thirsty gutters blocked with sand and choked with mud, / You would find them mighty rivers with a turbid, sweeping flood; / For the rain and drought and sunshine make no changes in the street, / In the sullen line of buildings and the ceaseless tramp of feet; / But the bush hath moods and changes, as the seasons rise and fall, / And the men who know the bush-land -- they are loyal through it all.