With pannikins all rusty,
And billy burnt and black,
And clothes all torn and dusty,
That scarcely hide his back;
With sun-cracked saddle-leather,
And knotted greenhide rein,
And face burnt brown with weather,
Our Andy's home again!
His unkempt hair is faded
With sleeping in the wet,
He's looking old and jaded;
But he is hearty yet.
With eyes sunk in their sockets
But merry as of yore;
With big cheques in his pockets,
Our Andy's home once more.
Old Uncle's bright and cheerful;
He wears a smiling face;
And Aunty's never tearful
Now Andy's round the place.
Old Blucher barks for gladness;
He broke his rusty chain,
And leapt in joyous madness
When Andy came again.
His toil is nearly over;
He'll soon enjoy his gains.
No more he'll be a drover,
And cross the lonely plains.
The She oaks bend and quiver
Far from the hot nor'west,
At home by some cool river
He means to build our nest.
With pannikins all rusty,
And billy burnt and black,
And clothes all torn and dusty,
That scarcely hide his back;
With sun-cracked saddle-leather,
From where the skies hang lazy,
On many a northern plain,
From regions dim and hazy
Hey our Andy's home again!
