Lord of the Plains of Trembling, Master of Bonds-men— Thor, 
Where are you sleeping, son of Earth, while the men go down to the war? 
Are the Giants slain and the Giants' Bane laid by, with its battles o'er? 

Do you sit by Sif and listen, O Thor the Thunderer, 
While she tunes her harp to a drowsy rhyme of woes and wars that were? 
Are the swords and slings forgotten things for love of the songs of her? 

Yet she is a God's own daughter, and the wild blood's in her, too — 
She has watched the young lives spilling, and trodden them down like dew: 
Does she not long for the seagull's song, and the ships in the midsea blue? 

Awake, O Sif, arise, O Sif, and bid thy lord up-stand, 
Draw close the belt about him, set Miolnir in his hand — 
Bid him rise and smite for Odin's right and the sake of Odin's land. 

For over the sleep of Bragi the fearless wild bees hum, 
And Frigga listens at her loom for steps that never come: 
And an ended story is Odin's glory, and the mouth of Mimir's dumb. 

Up, Thor, for Odin's honour: up, Sif, for the Thunderer's! 
Tho' Sigurd sleep at Brynhild's side, let sleep be his and hers! 
Open tho' late is Valhall gate, and the sleeping fire it stirs. 

Sing, Sif, till the heroes hear thee — and rise, and northward go 
Till the Warder wakes on Bifrost bridge and Balder wakes below; 
Till the Warder wakes and the sunrise breaks the frozen heart of the snow. 

Sing, Sif, till the ears of Odin hear thee, until Hel's door 
Be opened wide for Balder, and Frigga's watch be o'er — 
Sing, Gold-Hair, sing until Glasir ring with the steps of Tyr and Thor. 

Now the stock have started dying, for the Lord has sent a drought;
But we're sick of prayers and Providence — we're going to do without;
With the derricks up above us and the solid earth below,
We are waiting at the lever for the word to let her go.
Sinking down, deeper down,
Oh, we'll sink it deeper down:
As the drill is plugging downward at a thousand feet of level,
If the Lord won't send us water, oh, we'll get it from the devil;
Yes, we'll get it from the devil deeper down.

Now, our engine's built in Glasgow by a very canny Scot,
And he marked it twenty horse-power, but he don't know what is what:
When Canadian Bill is firing with the sun-dried gidgee logs,
She can equal thirty horses and a score or so of dogs.
Sinking down, deeper down,
Oh, we're going deeper down:
If we fail to get the water, then it's ruin to the squatter,
For the drought is on the station and the weather's growing hotter,
But we're bound to get the water deeper down.

But the shaft has started caving and the sinking's very slow,
And the yellow rods are bending in the water down below,
And the tubes are always jamming, and they can't be made to shift
Till we nearly burst the engine with a forty horse-power lift.
Sinking down, deeper down,
Oh, we're going deeper down:
Though the shaft is always caving, and the tubes are always jamming,
Yet we'll fight our way to water while the stubborn drill is ramming—
While the stubborn drill is ramming deeper down.

But there's no artesian water, though we've passed three thousand feet,
And the contract price is growing, and the boss is nearly beat.
But it must be down beneath us, and it's down we've got to go,
Though she's bumping on the solid rock four thousand feet below.
Sinking down, deeper down,
Oh, we're going deeper down:
And it's time they heard us knocking on the roof of Satan's dwellin';
But we'll get artesian water if we cave the roof of hell in—
Oh! we'll get artesian water deeper down.

But it's hark! the whistle's blowing with a wild, exultant blast,
And the boys are madly cheering, for they've struck the flow at last;
And it's rushing up the tubing from four thousand feet below,
Till it spouts above the casing in a million-gallon flow.
And it's down, deeper down—
Oh, it comes from deeper down;
It is flowing, ever flowing, in a free, unstinted measure
From the silent hidden places where the old earth hides her treasure—
Where the old earth hides her treasures deeper down.

And it's clear away the timber, and it's let the water run:
How it glimmers in the shadow, how it flashes in the sun!
By the silent bells of timber, by the miles of blazing plain
It is bringing hope and comfort to the thirsty land again.
Flowing down, further down;
It is flowing deeper down
To the tortured thirsty cattle, bringing gladness in its going;
Through the droughty days of summer it is flowing, ever flowing—
It is flowing, ever flowing, further down.