Bourke in the early nineties,
Back in ninety-one and two —
Long Tom Hall and his villains,
Little Billy Woods and you.

Saddle-tweed suit and soft shirt —
Standing six-foot three —
You long, slow, kindly smiling
Slab of Democracy!

Donald! Do you remember,
Back in the Dawn of Day,
How we fought with our faces seaward
From Blackall, Bourke and Hay?

Fought with the Western bushmen,
Fought for Democracy —
Fought for the real Federation
And the things we knew must be.

They needed no banners to lead them,
They needed no drums to thump,
With long Tom Hall or with Donald
Macdonell " on the stump " .

Then we ran the Worker for nothing,
Then no one fought for hire,
When the orders went by the " Footmen " ,
And the news by " Mulga Wire " .

'Twas the saddle-strap belt they tightened,
(O the soft shirt, pants and coat!)
They fought in secret and danger,
And won with the Outback Vote!

(It sounds like a song from the dying
To a living time and men;
But the bad, blind months are flying,
And the Spirit shall live agen.)

Donald! The Bushmen loved you,
And the Towneys loved you too;
And your colleagues more than respected,
As did all men when they knew.

Donald, in ordered " biled rags "
To suit his length and breadth,
Yet true to his friends, Truth and Justice,
As he'll be true till his death!

There was many a stone-broke Bushman
Helped back not once nor twice;
There was many a quid and saxpence,
And kindly word of advice.

Donald, the old mates vanish
From camp and tent and hut,
Some died or were forgotten,
Some " dropped their names and cut " .

Donald! They tell us ill news,
That flies through the wool and wheat —
There's grief on the wastes of Cobar,
There's sorrow in Macquarie Street.

It goes by 'phone and Marconi,
It's telegraphed to Nevertire —
Down the long barren creeks of Desolation
It is carried by Mulga Wire.

Donald! They say you're ailing,
They tell us the end is near;
Donald! They say that it's only
Your great heart keeps you here.

Donald! They say you're dying!
God grant that it be not true;
But the sweep of the mulga's sighing,
Donald, in memory of you.