I have seen the People’s triumph in the visions of my dreams;
It as pictured by the campfires down the lonely western streams,
And the teamsters talk about it as they tramp beside their teams.

Write the Truth in simple language, and you shall not write in vain!
Sing a ringing song of freedom, and you’ll hear the same refrain
Where the drovers ride together far across the western plain.

Write of wrongs that you are hating with the grand old burning hate!
For the lonely digger reads it when the western day is late,
And he marks it in the paper he is sending to his mate.

Spread the Truth in simple language when you feel it in your breast!
It will reach the far selections in the wild Australian west,
Where the bushmen yarn together on a sunny day of rest.

O the workers’ new religion spreads beneath the southern skies,
And the bearded fathers read it, for its words are kind and wise,
And the little children listen to the Truth with wondering eyes.