There is music in the Mallee, lilting music, soft
and low,
Like the songs in vale and valley where the summer
waters flow;
But an anthem of elation, passing now from mouth to mouth,
Is the message from each station from the Mitchell River
south.
For it’s raining! Raining! Raining!
How the iron roof tops ring!
How the waters, swiftly draining through the straining
down-pipes sing!
Every drop a golden rhyme is, every shower a stanza strong,
And each day of raining time is canto sweet of God’s
great song.
Oh, the earth was dry as tinder and her lips were
cracked with pain!
From the south to Thargomindah like a dead thing
she has lain;
But her famine days are over, and her smiles shall soon
be seen,
For her old time Autumn lover brings her back her garb
of green.
For it’s raining! Raining! Raining! Don’t
you hear the merry din?
Don’t you hear the old earth straining as she sucks
the juices in?
And the swelling creeks and rivers — hark! Their
merry madrigal,
Oh, the sweetest music-givers are the Autumn rains that
fall!
For it’s raining! Raining! Raining! Over all the
thirsty land!
Don’t you hear the old earth straining as the sapless
roots expand?
And above the joyous beating on the rooftops you can
hear
All the choirs of nature meeting in an anthem loud and
clear.
