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Ray E. MacRae
New South Wales, Australia

It's an old house but it's home
and it's thirty miles from town
The roads are rough twixt here and there
and our old carís broken down.

Oh yes, weíve a horse and cart
but the horse is old and the harness torn
can't think of a good reason to go to town
Beside weíll have no money till the lambs are shorn.

Our home is our church, so father says,
God hears us out here as well as in town,
Why, just before May, He sent us that rain
Ďcourse we need a drop more to save the crops going brown.

Our home is our school, lessons come in the mail.
Our schoolroom's the kitchen Ďcause Mum teaches and cooks.
Itís lunchtime now, Dad will be in for a meal,
We best clear the table and pack up our books.

I love our old home, Mumís garden all round.
The pupís chasing the chickens, the ducks in the dam.
The beautiful sunsets, the cows wandering home.
I pray to the Lord, from home I never need roam.

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