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The Flour Bin

by
 By Lawson's Hill, near Mudgee, 
On old Eurunderee – 
The place they called "New Pipeclay", 
Where the diggers used to be – 
On a dreary old selection, 
Where times were dry and thin, 
In a slab and shingle kitchen 
There stood a flour bin.
'Twas "ploorer" with the cattle, 'Twas rust and smut in wheat, 'Twas blight in eyes and orchards, And coarse salt-beef to eat.
Oh, how our mothers struggled Till eyes and brain were dull – Oh, how our fathers slaved and toiled To keep those flour bins full! We've been in many countries, We've sailed on many seas; We've travelled in the steerage And lived on land at ease.
We've seen the world together Through laughter and through tears – And not been far from baker's bread These five and thirty years.
The flats are green as ever, The creeks go rippling through; The Mudgee Hills are showing Their deepest shades of blue; Those mountains in the distance That ever held a charm Are fairer than a picture As seen from Cox's farm.
On a German farm by Mudgee, That took long years to win, On the wide bricked back verandah There stands a flour bin; And the dear old German lady – Though the bakers' carts run out – Still keeps a "fifty" in it Against a time of drought.
It was my father made it, It stands as good as new, And of the others like it There still remain a few.
God grant, when drought shall strike us, The young will "take a pull", And the old folk their strength anew To keep those flour bins full.

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