"Jack Robertson"

Henry Lawson, 1891

      How oft in public meetings past,
      Where sense was not and talk was loud,
      We caught a glimpse of long white hair
      Upon the outskirts of the crowd;
      And then the tide of talk ebbed back,
      While here and there above the din,
      A workman cried, "Here's old Sir Jack,"
      And made a path to let him in.

      Now Peter sitting at the gate,
      While crowds of souls are waiting there,
      Perchance upon the outer fringe
      May catch a glimpse of silvery hair;
      While some rough soul who went from here
      To that great meeting in the blue
      Will cry aloud, "Here's old Sir Jack,"
      And make a path to let him through.