The roaring strippers come and go
Like ships on a sea of grain;
Till the lurching, groaning waggons bear
Their tale of the load complete.
Of the world's great work he has done his share
Who has gathered a crop of wheat.

Princes and Potentates and Czars,
They travel in regal state,
But old King Wheat has a thousand cars
For his trip to the water-gate;
And his thousand steamships breast the tide
And plough thro' the wind and sleet
To the lands where the teeming millions bide
That say: "Thank God for Wheat!"




Brumby's Run

Brumby is the Aboriginal word for a wild horse. At a recent trial
a N.S.W. Supreme Court Judge, hearing of Brumby horses, asked:
"Who is Brumby, and where is his Run?"



It lies beyond the Western Pines
Towards the sinking sun,
And not a survey mark defines