The Southerly Buster
Henry Lawson

THERE'S a wind that blows out of the South in the drought,
����And we pray for the touch of his breath
When siroccos come forth from the North-West and North,
����Or in dead calms of fever and death.
With eyes glad and dim we should sing him a hymn,
����For depression and death are his foes,
And he gives us new life for the bread-winning strife?
����When the glorious Old Southerly blows.

Old Southerly Buster! your forces you muster
����Where seldom a wind bloweth twice,
And your - white-caps - have hint of the snow caps, and glint of
����The far-away barriers of ice.
No wind the wide sea on can sing such a poean
����Or do the great work that you do;
Our own wind and only, from seas wild and lonely?
����Old Southerly Buster! To you!

Oh, the city is baked, and its thirst is unslaked,
����Though it swallows iced drinks by the score,
And the blurred sky is low and the air seems aglow
����As if breezes would cool it no more.
We are watching all hands where the Post Office stands?
����We are watching out hopefully too?
For a red light shall glower from the Post Office tower
����When the Southerly Buster is due.

The yachts run away at the end of the day
����From the breakers commencing to comb,
For a few he may swamp in the health-giving romp
����With the friendly Old Southerly home.
But he never drowns one, for the drowning is done
����By the fools, or the reckless in sport;
And the alleys and slums shall be cooled when he comes
����With the weary wind-jammers to port.

Oh softly he plays through the city's hot ways
����To the beds where they're calling 'Come quick!'
He is gentle and mild round the feverish child,
����And he cools the hot brow of the sick.
Clearing drought-hazy skies, up the North Coast he hies
����Till the mouths of our rivers are fair?
And along the sea, too, he has good work to do,
����For he takes the old timber-tubs there.

- Tis a glorious mission, Old Sydney's Physician!
����Broom, Bucket, and Cloth of the East,
- Tis a breeze and a sprayer that answers our prayer,
����And it?s free to the greatest and least.
The red-lamp?s a warning to drought and its scorning?
����A sign to the city at large?
Hence! Headache and Worry! Despondency hurry!
����Old Southerly Buster's in charge

Old Southerly Buster! your forces you muster
����Where seldom a wind bloweth twice,
And your - white-caps - have hint of the snow caps, and glint of
����The far-away barriers of ice.
No wind the wide sea on can sing such a poean
����Or do the great work that you do;
Our own wind and only, from seas wild and lonely?
����Old Southerly Buster! - To you!