'Twas honest metal and honest wood, in the days of the Outward Bound, When men were gallant and ships were good -- roaming the wide world round. The gods could envy a leader then when `Follow me, lads!' he cried -- They faced each other and fought like men in the days when the world was wide.
They tried to live as a freeman should -- they were happier men than we, In the glorious days of wine and blood, when Liberty crossed the sea; 'Twas a comrade true or a foeman then, and a trusty sword well tried -- They faced each other and fought like men in the days when the world was wide.
The good ship bound for the Southern seas when the beacon was Ballarat, With a `Ship ahoy!' on the freshening breeze, `Where bound?' and `What ship's that?' -- The emigrant train to New Mexico -- the rush to the Lachlan Side -- Ah! faint is the echo of Westward Ho! from the days when the world was wide.
South, East, and West in advance of Time -- and, ay! in advance of Thought Those brave men rose to a height sublime -- and is it for this they fought? And is it for this damned life we praise the god-like spirit that died At Eureka Stockade in the Roaring Days with the days when the world was wide?
We fight like women, and feel as much; the thoughts of our hearts we guard; Where scarcely the scorn of a god could touch, the sneer of a sneak hits hard; The treacherous tongue and cowardly pen, the weapons of curs, decide -- They faced each other and fought like men in the days when the world was wide.
Think of it all -- of the life that is! Study your friends and foes! Study the past! And answer this: `Are these times better than those?' The life-long quarrel, the paltry spite, the sting of your poisoned pride! No matter who fell it were better to fight as they did when the world was wide.
Boast as you will of your mateship now -- crippled and mean and sly -- The lines of suspicion on friendship's brow were traced since the days gone by. There was room in the long, free lines of the van to fight for it side by side -- There was beating-room for the heart of a man in the days when the world was wide.
With its dull, brown days of a-shilling-an-hour the dreary year drags round: Is this the result of Old England's power? -- the bourne of the Outward Bound? Is this the sequel of Westward Ho! -- of the days of Whate'er Betide? The heart of the rebel makes answer `No! We'll fight till the world grows wide!'