Out to the West, with its golden tale,
They steal off one by one,
And some will prosper, and some will fail
In the land of the setting sun.
You take with you, boys, our best goodwill
Good luck in the Golden West
We’ll meet when you’re gone and think of you still,
Out on the mines with the pick and the drill,
Or shut in an office driving a quill.
And we’ll hope for you all that is best.
There are Port Augusta boys, we know,
Will remember their town in the North,
Far off in the West where the hot winds blow,
When the sun goes down and the lights burn low,
There all hearts will beat and eyes will glow
For the home that sent them forth,
They’ll remember the pluck of the men that stood
By the town they loved so well;
There’s a grit that runs in the Northern blood
That will carry a man through flame or flood,
And we know that blood will tell.
They’ll remember the race from which they sprung
men of the ” thin red line
And with honor back to our town will come,
Back from the laud of the setting sun,
All in their own good time.
Ye go to the west, but the day will be
When back to the dear old home
Back to the home in the North Countree-
The boys will gather from over the sea,
And the girls with their bridegrooms come.
Tis hard to know what course is best
In this world, as we’re often told,
But the boys who went from the North to the West
Will be able to take their chance with the rest
And I’ll warrant that many will stand the test,
For their ring is genuine gold.
And whether they come back old and broke,
Or young, and owning a mine,
There’s a welcome here for the Northern bloke,
And we’ll light our pipes, and in their smoke
We’ll pitch of Auld Lang Syne.
N. A. W. Port Augusta, January 13, 1897.