Weary old wife, with the bucket and cow,
-How-s your son Jack? and where is he now?-
Haggard old eyes that turn to the west-
-Boys will be boys, and he-s gone with the rest!-
Grief without tears and grief without sound;
-Somewhere up-country he-s knocking around.-
Knocking around with a vagabond crew,
Does for himself what a mother would do;
Maybe in trouble and maybe hard-up,
Maybe in want of a bite or a sup;
Dead of the fever, or lost in the drought,
Lonely old mother! he-s knocking about.

Wiry old man at the tail of the plough,
-Heard of Jack lately? and where is he now?-
Pauses a moment his forehead to wipe,
Drops the rope reins while he feels for his pipe,
Scratches his grey head in sorrow or doubt:
-Somewheers or others he-s knocking about.-

Knocking about on the runs of the West,
Holding his own with the worst and the best
Breaking in horses and risking his neck,
Droving or shearing and making a cheque;
Straight as a sapling-six-foot and sound,
Jack is all right when he-s knocking around