The Mallee Fire

I suppose it just depends on where you're raised,
Once I met a cove as swore by green belar !
Couldn't sight the good old mallee-stump I praised ;
Well ! — I couldn't sight belar, and there you are !
But the faces in the fire where the mallee stump's a-blinking
Are the friendliest I ever seen, to my way o' thinking !

In the city where the fires is mostly coal —
There ! I can't a-bear to go and warm my feet !
Spitting, fizzing things as hasn't got no soul !
Things as puffs out yaller smoke instead of heat !
But at home — well, it is home when the mallee-stump 's a-burning,
And the evenin's drawing chilly and the season is a-turning.

And there 's some as runs 'em down because they're tough.
Well ? And what 's the good of any think as ain't ?
No. It 's nary use to serve 'em any bluff,
For they'd use up all the patience of a saint.
But they'll split as sweet as sugar if you know the way to take 'em ;
If you don't, there isn't nothink in the world as 'll break 'em.

They're tremenjus hard to kindle, tho', at first :
Like the friendship of the kind that comes to stay.
You can blow and blow and blow until you burst,
And when they won't, they won't burn, anyway !
But when once they gets a start, tho' they make no showy flashes,
Well, they'll serve you true and honest to the last pinch of ashes.