G'day,
I posted the words to this in reply to a request in another thread, so I guess I should put all the versions and tunes together and post them in a Lyr/Tun thread.
As we in Australia are enduring all the government and corporate hangers on the coat tails of the centenary of Federation, I am reminded that Henry Lawson wrote this in response to the original bun-rush ... and it hasn't dated any in the last century.
I have noted that this is "a shortened, singer's version: ... the original was 80 lines ... a good 10 8-line verses. John Meredith and friends edited it down to this more effective 28-line version for the original (1952 – 1957) Bushwhackers Band and published it in a Bush Music Club booklet Songs from Lawson in 1955. For those of stronger constitution and retentive memory, I have provided the full version at the end of this post.
As I noted in the other thread, as I was preparing dance music for a an Australian dance group taking part in a march tomorrow to celebrate (slightly belatedly) Chinese New Year, I realised that this tune is essentially The Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane. It was collected by Alan Scott, in 1960, from Alex Argus, an ex-shearer, of Gumly Gumly (near Wagga Wagga!), who used it for a shearers' song Another Shower of Rain (also known as Waiting for the Rain)
The Men Who Made Australia
Henry Lawson
Shortened, singer's version
There'll be royal times in Sydney for the Cuff and Collar Push,
There'll be lots of dreary drivel and clap-trap
From the men who own Australia, but who never knew the Bush,
And who could not point their runs out on the map.
Oh, the daily Press will grovel as it never did before,'
There'll be many flags of welcome in the air,
And the Civil Service poet, he shall write odes by the score
But the men who made the land will not be there.
You shall meet the awful Lady of the latest Birthday Knight,
And to represent Australia here today,
You shall hear the empty mouthing of the champion blatherskite,
But the men who made Australia - where are they?
Call across the blazing sand wastes of the Never-Never Land!
There are some who will not answer -yet awhile,
Some whose bones rot in the mulga or lie bleaching on the sand,
Died of thirst to win the land another mile.
Call across the scrubby ridges where they clear the barren soil,
And the gaunt Bushwomen share the work of men -
Toil and loneliness forever - hardship, loneliness and toil -
Where the brave drought-ruined farmer starts again!
There are carriages in waiting for the swells from over-sea,
There are banquets in the latest London style,
While the men who made Australia live on damper, junk and tea
But the quiet voices whisper, "Wait a while."
For the sons of all Australia, they were born to conquer fate
And, where charity and friendship are sincere,
Where a sinner is a brother and a stranger is a mate,
There the future of a nation's written clear.
Here is the MIDItext of the tune (in G):
MIDI file: menwmaus.mid
Timebase: 240
TimeSig: 4/4 24 8
Tempo: 120 (500000 microsec/crotchet)
Start
0720 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 76 080 0096 0 76 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 64 080 0096 0 64 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 62 080 0192 0 62 064 0048 1 62 080 0096 0 62 064 0024 1 62 080 0096 0 62 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 69 080 0384 0 69 064 0336 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 76 080 0096 0 76 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 64 080 0096 0 64 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 62 080 0192 0 62 064 0048 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 67 080 0192 0 67 064 0528 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 76 080 0192 0 76 064 0048 1 76 080 0048 0 76 064 0012 1 76 080 0048 0 76 064 0012 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 74 080 0192 0 74 064 0048 1 62 080 0096 0 62 064 0024 1 62 080 0096 0 62 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0384 0 69 064 0336 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 76 080 0096 0 76 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 64 080 0096 0 64 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 62 080 0192 0 62 064 0048 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 74 080 0096 0 74 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 67 080 0096 0 67 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 72 080 0096 0 72 064 0024 1 71 080 0096 0 71 064 0024 1 69 080 0096 0 69 064 0024 1 67 080 0450 0 67 064
EndThis program is worth the effort of learning it.
To download the March 10 MIDItext 98 software and get instructions on how to use it click here
ABC format:
X:1
T:
M:4/4
Q:1/4=120
K:C
G7B|ddeddBGA|BGEGD2DD|GGGABddB|A6Bc|ddeddBGA|
BGEGD2GA|BdBGAcBA|G6GG|ccccce2e/2e/2|dBGBd2DD|
GGGGGBAG|A6Bc|ddeddBGA|BGEGD2GA|BdBGAcBA|
G15/4||
Here is the full text (enjoy!):
The Men Who Made Australia
(Written on the occasion of the Royal Visit to Australia, 1901)
There'll be royal times in Sydney for the Cuff and Collar Push,
There'll be lots of dreary drivel and clap-trap
From the men who own Australia, but who never knew the Bush,
And who could not point their runs out on the map.
O the daily Press will grovel as it never did before,
There'll be many flags of welcome in the air,
And the Civil Service poet, he shall write odes by the score-
But the men who made the land will not be there.
You shall meet the awful Lady of the latest Birthday Knight
(She is trying to be English, don't-cher-know?)
You shall hear the empty mouthing of the champion blatherskite,
You shall hear the boss of local drapers blow.
There'll be "majahs" from the counter, tailors' dummies from the fleet,
And to represent Australia here to-day
There's the toady with his card-case and his cab in Downing-street;
But the men who made Australia-where are they?
Call across the blazing sand wastes of the Never-Never Land!
There are some who will not answer yet awhile;
Some whose bones rot in the mulga or lie bleaching on the sand
Died of thirst to win the land another mile.
Thrown from horses, ripped by cattle, lost on deserts; and the weak,
Mad through loneliness or drink (no matter which),
Drowned in floods or dead of fever by the sluggish slimy creek
These are men who died to make the Wool-Kings rich.
Call across the scrubby ridges where they clear the barren soil,
And the gaunt Bushwomen share the work of men-
Toil and loneliness for ever-hardship, loneliness and toil-
Where the brave drought-ruined farmer starts again!
Call across the boundless sheep-runs of a country cursed for sheep-
Call across the awful scrublands west of Bourke!
But they have no time to listen-they have scarcely time to sleep-
For the men who conquer deserts have to work.
Dragged behind the crawling sheep-flock on the hot and dusty plain,
They must make a cheque to feed the wife and kids
Riding night-watch round the cattle in the pelting, freezing rain,
While world-weariness is pressing down the lids.
And away on far out-stations, seldom touched by Heaven's breath;
In a loneliness that smothers love and hate-
Where they never take white women - there they live the living death
With a half-caste or a black-gin for a mate.
They must toil to save the gaunt stock in the blazing months of drought,
When the stinging, blinding blight is in men's eyes-
On the wretched, burnt selections, on the big runs further out
Where the sand-storm rises lurid to the skies.
Not to profit when the grass is waving waist-high after rain,
And the mighty clip of wool comes rolling in
For the Wool-King goes to Paris with his family again
And the gold that souls are sacrificed to win.
There are carriages in waiting for the swells from over-sea,
There are banquets in the latest London style,
While the men who made Australia live on damper, junk and tea -
But the quiet voices whisper, "Wait a while!"
For the sons of all Australia, they were born to conquer fate -
And, where charity and friendship are sincere,
Where a sinner is a brother and a stranger is a mate,
There the future of a nation's written clear.
Aye, the cities claim the triumphs of a land they do not know.
But all empty is the day they celebrate!
For the men who made Australia federated long ago,
And the men to rule Australia - they can wait.
Though the bed may be the rough bunk or the gum leaves or the sand,
And the roof for half the year may be the sky-
There are men amongst the Bushmen who were born to save the land!
And they'll take their places sternly by-and-by.
There's a whisper on the desert though the sunset breeze bath died
In the scrubs, though not a breath to stir a bough,
There's a murmur, not of waters, down the Lachlan River side,
'Tis the spirit of Australia waking now!
There's the weird hymn of the drought-night on the western water-shed,
Where the beds of unlocked rivers crack and parch;
'Tis the dead that we have buried, and our great unburied dead,
Who are calling now on living men to march!
Round the camp fire of the fencers by the furthest panel west,
In the men's hut by the muddy billabong,
On the Great North-Western Stock-routes where the drovers never rest,
They are sorting out the right things from the wrong.
In the shearers' hut the slush lamp shows a haggard, stern-faced man
Preaching war against the Wool-King to his mates;
And wherever go the billy, water-bag and frying-pan,
They are drafting future histories of state!
Regards,
Bob Bolton