It Is Quite Time That

Oh, My Ways Are Strange Ways And New Ways And Old Ways, And Deep Ways And Steep Ways And High Ways And Low, I'm At Home And At Ease On A Track That I Know Not, And Restless And Lost On A Road That I Know.

On The Same Line Of Reasoning, If Australians Were To Be Australians, Or Rather If Australians Were As Separate From Any Other Nation As Australia From Any Other Land, There Would Be No Jealousy Between Them On England's Account.

The Old Shepherd Had Died, Or Got Drunk, Or Got Rats, Or Got The Sack, Or A Legacy, Or Got Sane, Or Chucked It, Or Got Lost, Or Found, Or A Wife, Or Had Cut His Throat, Or Hanged Himself, Or Got Into Parliament Or The Peerage Anyway, Anything Had Happened To Him That Can Happen To An Old Shepherd Or Any Other Man In The Bush, And He Wasn't There.

We Shall Never Be Understood Or Respected By The English Until We Carry Our Individuality To Extremes, And By Asserting Our Independence, Become Of Sufficient Consequence In Their Eyes To Merit A Closer Study Than They Have Hitherto Accorded Us.

In A Land Where Sport Is Sacred, Where The Labourer Is God, You Must Pander To The People, Make A Hero Of A Clod.