Poem by Henry Lawson

The Flour Bin

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.

1. Up the Country
2. Eureka
3. Since Then
4. The Wander-Light
5. In the Storm that Is to Come

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