He was opposed altogether to the construction of the line from Oodnadatta to Pine Creek because it would not be of benefit to any part of Australia. - The amazing Johnson, M.H.R., of N.S.W.

There is a land which, all the year,
Flows gladly with milk, honey, beer,
Wheat, wool and sundry other things,
Of which an Austral poet sings.
It is a land of lavish crops,
Where Nature's bounty never stops.
Australia mine!  Australia dear!
      But, please understand,
      When we sing of our land,
   Of our country of fair renown,
      We refer to the piece
      (Let the cheering increase)
   That encircles oldSydney town.
      For we're all men -
            Small men -
   Men who can never expand;
But cheer very hard for our own back yard,
   For our own little piece of land.


There is a land of bright green smiles,
Where railways circle round for miles
To fetch the prodice painfully
Down to the city and the sea.
Where engines puff and long trains glide
Or to old Sydney's harbor grand,
This, this is our own native land!
      But, pray, have a care.
      When you hear us declare
  That Australia e'er shall prevail
      We refer to that bit -
      To that portion of it
   That is reached from the city by rail.
      For we're sound men,
         Bound men -
   Men who can never see far;
But we're putting our shirt on our own bit of dirt
   Where the railways and settlements are.


There is a land where the jumbucks bleat,
And travell'rs ne'er a soul may meet;
Where lordly squatters' sheepwalks spread,
And beasts, instead of men, are bred;
A land where strangers may not pass,
And Progress must keep off the grass.
This is our land, our very own!
The rest of it we leave alone.
      For, pray ye, observe
      That the country we serve
   Doesn't reach very far from the coast.
      'Tis the bit that we know,
      And, wherever we go,
   We shall make it our pride and our boast.
      For we're free men,
            Wee men.
      Men of parochial build;
But our own little squeak, though it's feeble and weak,
     Will require a long time to be killed.


There is a land where, thanks to us
(Though foolish persons rage and fuss),
Congested population grows,
As ev'ry fat exploiter knows.
Where men increase and multiply,
We'll have a surplus by-and-by;
But still we'll advertise for more
For this dear land we barrack for.
      But, please bear in mind,
      Though we're never unkind
   To a patriot, sterling and true;
      He's our hatred intense
      If he won't mind our fence;
   For this talk of expansion won't do.
      We are dense men,
            Fence men,
   Men who are keen at a deal;
And we'll cheer all our days for the portion that pays;
   That's the sort of glad pride that we feel.


Ihis is our land - O, happy place!
Where population grows apace,
Some day it will be crowded, crammed;
But while we live we shan't expand!
What do we care, men of our build,
For empty spaces to be filled?
We own no pride in that far spot!
'Tis not our land; we know it not.
      And please be informed.
      You have shouted and stormed
   For the land on the far outer track;
      But, we give you our word,
      It is clearly absurd
   To attempt to develop Outback.
      We are proud men,
           Loud men
   When we yell for this side of our fence;
But we're mentally cramped, and our ardor is damped
   When you mention a scheme so immense.


There is a place, we understand,
Somewhere beyond our native land?
They've christened that Australia too,
But with it we have nought to do.
They boast of riches it has got
Plain nonsense to the patriot.
We cheer for our Australia fair.
(Australia can't be everywhere!)
      For 'tis time people learned
      We are only concerned
   With the Yarra, the Torrens or Swan -
      With our own little spot;
      And we don't care a jot
   For the country they're harping upon.
      For we're keen men
            Mean men;
   We'd give it away to the Jap.
Dear old Sydney's ourland - our Australia so grand!
   And to Hell with the rest of the map!

"Den"
The Bulletin, 2 December 1909, p14