Explore "Song of the Wheat" by Andrew Barton Paterson on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
We have sung the song of the droving days, / Of the march of the travelling sheep; / By silent stages and lonely ways / Thin, white battalions creep. / But the man who now by the land would thrive / Must his spurs to a plough-share beat. / Is there ever a man in the world alive / To sing the song of the Wheat!
It's west by south of the Great Divide / The grim grey plains run out, / Where the old flock-masters lived and died / In a ceaseless fight with drought. / Weary with waiting and hope deferred / They were ready to own defeat, / Till at last they heard the master-word -- / And the master-word was Wheat.