Jim of the Hills | Page 2

a nerve! An' he howls
a merry "Hoop-la!" as she swings around a curve. Then it's: Hey, boys!
Plug ahead!
Feed the greedy mill!
We have fed her logs in dozens, but she's shriekin' for 'em still.
When you test the strength that's in you, oh, it's good to be alive In the
green bush, the clean bush, an' with your fellows strive... There's Simon,
of the sniggin' gang, in trouble with his log. An' he slews her with a
cant-hook as she wallows in a bog.
But it's: Hey, boys!
Steady, boys!
Haul away the slack!
An' the shackled giant's snakin' down the deeply-furrowed track. Now
the boss he swears to heaven that the timber's all bewitched, An' Simon
toils like seven men to get the tackle hitched.
An' it's: Ho, boys!
Right away!
Slew her at the nose!
An' the old winch coughs an' clatters every time the whistle blows.
The crowded world may call at times, but here I'd rather be, With the
strong men, the brown men, who work along with me; With the good
tan on their faces an' the clear look in their eyes That come to men who
ply their trade beneath the open skies: The rough men,
The straight men,
With coarse words on
the tongue.
An' hearts that work can never break an' minds that must kepe young.
Oh, it's swingin', swingin' Douglas with a strength you glory in, Where
willin' hands are honoured hands, an shirkin' is the sin - An' it's: Hi,
boys!

Clear, boys!
More to feed the mill!
An' the great tree whistles downward to a crash that shakes the hill.
II. A LONELY MAN
When I'm out among the fellows, with the work to hold my mind, Then
there's heaps of joy in livin' an' the world seems awful kind -
Awful kind an' awful jolly, with no trace of melancholy, An' I tell
myself the bloke that don't enjoy it must be blind -
When I'm out among the fellows; but, when I am sittin' here, Dreamin'
by my lonely fireside, then the world gets kind of queer.
I suppose it's how you take it: what they call the point of view; An' a
man don't look for dreamin' when there's work for him to do.
But he can't be ever toilin', an' at times he gets to spoilin' All the joy the
day has brought him - when he lets the black thoughts through.
It suppose it's livin' lonely, as a fellow never should; For a lonely man
gets broodin', and the broodin' isn't good.
It's never good, the sayin' is, for man to live alone.
But 'tain't because
I like it that I'm batchin' on my own,
For a bloke must take what's goin', an' my life ain't all been growin'
Daffodils and hummin' dance tunes just to give my soul a tone.
It's muscle I've had to grow since days when I was small, An' all the
muscle that I've made is with the axe an' maul.
When folks are poor an' toil is hard an' times are harder still A boy soon
learns the use of time if he would eat his fill.
Long before I'd finished schoolin' I had put aside my foolin'. Till now,
at thirty an' a bit,