Going Home

When I set out for the West (said he)
   On my last big tramp alone,
I could start the journey best (said he)
   From the land I call my own.
For I want the skies and the friendly trees
   And the bush-bound tracks I know,
And I want the bush birds melodies
   To cheer me as I go.

For theres none to point the way (said he)
   When a soul sets forth to range;
And a soul might drift astray (said he)
   In a city grim and strange.
For Id head me east or head me west,
  And Id veer, and double back;
But in the land I know the best
   Id head straight up the track.

So set me free in the bush (said he)
   Where the way is plain and straight;
And Ill need no urging push (said he)
   Nor halt, nor hesitate.
But where the golden sun-shafts fall
   Thro fretted shades Ill roam
Till I hear the old gatekeepers call,
   Then Ill know that Ive come home.