Heed Not!

Heed not the cock-sure tourist,     Seeing with English eyes;     Stroked at the banquet table     Still, with the old stock lies,     Pet of a social circle,     Guest in a garden fair,     Free of the first-class carriage,     He learns no Australia there.     Heed not the Southern humbugs     By the first saloons who come,     From his work in the wide, hot scrub-lands     The Australian goes not home.     Give them the toadies knighthood,     Fit for the souls theyve got;     Fear not to shame Australia     For Australia knows them not.     Heed not the Sydney dailies,     Naught for the land they do;     Heed not the Melbourne street crowd,     For they know no more than you!     Pent in the coastal cities,     Still on the old-world track,     They know naught of Australia,     Of the heart of the great Out-Back.     But wait for the voice that gathers     Strength by the western creeks!     Heed ye the Out-Back shearers,     List when the Great Bush speaks!     Heed ye the black-sheep, working     His own salvation free,     And Oh! heed ye the sons of the exiles     When they speak of the things to be!