The Sacrifice of Ball's Head Henry Lawson, 1916 They're taking it, the shipping push, As all the rest must go — The only spot of cliff and bush That harbour people know. The spirit of the past is dead North Sydney has no soul — The State is cutting down Ball's Head. To make a wharf for coal. Where picnic parties used to go To spend a glorious day, With all the scenery of a coast And not a cent to pay. The deep cool tangle shall be cleared To make the glaring roads And motor lorries jolt and grind And drag their sordid loads. And strings of grimy trucks shall run In everlasting trains And on the cliffs where wild trees are Shall stand the soulless cranes, To dump their grimy loads below, Where great brown rocks are grand; And the deep grass and wild flowers grow — And boating couples land. No more shall poorer families Give "Grandma" and "Grandad" A glimpse of nature's mysteries To make their old hearts glad. No more our eyes shall be relieved In the city's garish day — A sordid crime has been achieved! And none has aught to say.