Respite

As we went down the ole bush road,
   George Jones an' me the other day,
His bullicks tuggin' at their load,
   We didn't have a lot to say;
But, by the creek, George looks at me
   Then sorter shakes his head in doubt.
"That ford is runnin' low," sez he.
   "Looks like we're goin' to 'ave a drought."

Quick on that word my thought they flew
   Back to a picture of the past:
The drought that come in ninety-two
   Full half the countryside to blast.
I seen agen the dyin' stock,
   The paddicks bare, the trees burned black;
I heard agen the evil flock
   Of dark crows cawin' down the track.

I seen full plenty laid to waste
   By arid wind and savage sun
Because mankind with sinful haste
   Scatters earth's gifts as soon as won.
An' then I felt that sudden fear
   That comes to man unsought, unguessed:
"If drought," I says, "comes to us here
   In this green place, what of the rest?"

But George, he cocks a weather eye
   Above the trees.  Sez he: "Take heart.
You ain't been noticin' the sky
   I reckon somethin's due to start,"
Then sudden music sweet to hear
   Came singin' down the forest lane
To make an end to human fear.
   It was the rain!  The blessed rain!