Across the stony ridges, across the rolling plains, young Harry Dale the drover comes riding home again.And well his stock horse bears him, and light of heart is he, and stoutly his old pack horse is trotting by his knee.Up Queensland way with cattle, he's travelled regions fast, and many months have vanished since home folks o'er him last.He hums a song of someone he hopes to marry soon, and hobbled chains and campfire keep jingling to the tune.Beyond the hazy daydome, against the lower skies, and yon blue lines of the wind, he's riding home again.He hums a song of someone he hopes to marry soon, and hobbled chains and campfire keep jingling to the tune.An hour has filled the heavens with storm clouds in key black.At times the lightning trickles.Around the drover's track.But Harry pushes onward, his horse's strength he tries, in hope to reach the river before the flood shall rise.The thunder pealing o'er him, goes rumbling down the plain, and sweet on thirsty pastures, beats fast the plashing rain.Then every creek and gully, sends forth its tribute flood.The river runs a banker, all stained with yellow mud.Now Harry speaks to Rover, the best dog on the plains, and to his hardy horses, he strokes their shaggy mane.We've breasted bigger rivers, when floods were at their height, nor shall this gutter stop us, from getting home tonight.We've breasted bigger rivers, when floods were at their height, nor shall this gutter stop us, from getting home tonight.We've breasted bigger rivers, when floods were at their height, nor shall this gutter stop us, from getting home tonight.The thunder growls a warning, the blue fork lightning gleams.The drover turns his horses, to swim the fatal stream.But oh, the flood runs stronger, than e'er it ran before.The saddle horse is failing, and only halfway o'er.When flashes next the lightning, the flood runs on.God's grave rest is blank.A cattle dog and pack horse, are struggling up the bank.But in the lonely homestead, the girl shall wait in vain.He'll never pass the stations, in charge of stock again.The faithful dog a moment, lies panting on the bank.Then plunges through the current, to where his master sank.And round and round in circles, he fights with failing strength.Till gripped by wilder waters, he fails and sinks at length.Oh, across the flooded lowlands, and slopes of sodden loam.The pack horse struggles bravely, to take dumb tidings home.And mud-stained, wet and weary, he goes by rock and tree.With clanging chains and tinware, all sounding eerily.