by D Lamont
Australian Town and Country Journal
Far from the haunts of care-worn men,
They made a lonely grave.
Near a sandy knoll, on which sun and rain,
Will shine and beat, but which never again,
Will be trod by his comrades brave.
Not even the dingo's dismal howl,
Nor the roar of the tempest's wrath,
Nor day's bright birds, nor night's dull owl,
Nor the creepiong snake with its venom foul,
Will disturb his sleep of death.
And though for ever his bones will rest
In that lonely and silent spot,
And his sleep be calm as the bird in its nest
Or the infant child on it's mothers breast,
Still his name will ne'er be forgot.
Yet the time will come when his lone deathbed
Will be seen by the young and gay,
When pioneers by enterprise led
To the place where slumbers and sacred dead'
Will camp near the grave of Gray.
And the tale will be told as they reverent stand
Round his lowly and lonely grave,
How he and his comrades crossed the land,
O'er deserts andn mountains from strand to strand,
And how he perished the gallant and brave.
When thunder rolls on the furious gale -
In the long, hot summer's day -
When the night winds sob, and howl, and wail
O'er that lonely grave - will be told the tale
Of the death and burial of Gray.