| It was in the Queensland drought
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| And over hill and dell,
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| No grass the water far apart,
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| All dry and hot as hell.
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| The wretched bullock teams drew up
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| Beside a water-hole
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| They’d struggled on through dust and drought
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| For days to reach this goal.
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| And though the water rendered forth
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| A rank, unholy stench,
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| The bullocks and the bullockies
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| Drank deep their thirst to quench.
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| Two of the drivers cursed and swore
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| As only drivers can.
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| The other one, named Daniel,
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| Best known as Holy Dan,
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| Admonished them and said it was
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| The Lord’s all-wise decree;
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| And if they’d only watch and wait,
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| A change they’d quickly see.
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| 'Twas strange that of Dan’s bullocks
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| Not one had gone aloft,
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| But this, he said, was due to prayer
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| And supplication oft.
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| At last one died but Dan was calm,
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| He hardly seemed to care;
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| He knelt beside the bullock’s corpse
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| And offered up a prayer.
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| «One bullock Thou has taken, Lord,
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| And so it seemeth best.
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| Thy will be done, but see my need
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| And spare to me the rest!»
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| A month went by. |
| Dan’s bullocks now
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| Were dying every day,
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| But still on each occasion would
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| The faithful fellow pray,
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| «Another Thou has taken, Lord,
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| And so it seemeth best.
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| Thy will be done, but see my need,
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| And spare to me the rest!»
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| And still they camped beside the hole,
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| And still it never rained,
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| And still Dan’s bullocks died and died,
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| Till only one remained.
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| Then Dan broke down — good Holy Dan —
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| The man who never swore.
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| He knelt beside the latest corpse,
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| And here’s the prayer he prore.
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| «That's nineteen Thou has taken, Lord,
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| And now you’ll plainly see
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| you’d better take the bloody lot,
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| One’s no damn good to me.»
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| The other riders laughed so much
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| They shook the sky around;
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| The lightning flashed, the thunder roared,
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| And Holy Dan was drowned. |