High on the hills, where the tall trees grow,
There lives an axeman that 1 know.
From his little hut by a ferny creek,
Day after day, week after week,
He goes each morn with his shining axe,
Trudging along by the forest tracks;
And he chops and he chops     till the daylight goes
High on the hills, where the blue-gum grows.


(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
There's a log to move and a branch to lop.
Now to the felling!  His sharp axe bites
Into a tree on the forest heights,
And scarce for a breath does the axeman stop-
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
Bell-birds watch him; and in the fern
Wallabies listen awhile, and turn
Back through the bracken, and off they hop.
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . -. Chop!)
Patient and tireless, blow on blow
The axeman swings as the minutes go;
While the echoes ring from the mountain-top.
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)


Round about him the. rabbits play,
Skipping and scampering all the day,
And the sweet young grass by the logs they crop.
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)


Crimson parrots above him climb,
Chattering, chattering all the time,
As down from the branches the twigs they drop.
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip!          Chop!)
Steadily, surely, on he goes,
Shaking the tree with his mighty blows:
There's never a pause and there's never a stop.
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)


Out from the bush beyond is heard
The swaggering song of the butcher-bird
Seeking a joint for his butcher's shop.
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
Deeper and deeper the cut creeps in,
While the parrots shriek with a deafening din,
And the chips fly out with a flip and a flop.
(Chip!     Chop!       Chip!      Chop!)
Yellow robins come  flocking round,
Watching the chips  as they fall to ground,
Darting to catch the g ubs that drop.
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip!    . . Chop!)


The blows come quicker. The   axe~biade hums,
Stand well back, there, before she comes!
Hark! How the splinters crack and pop-
(Chip! . . Chop! . . Chip! . . Chop!)
Listen!  Listen!  She's creaking now!
Look, high up, at that trembling bough!
Another second, and down she'll smash,
Shaking the earth with a mighty crash;
Look at her! Look at her! (Chip!      Chop!
Chip! . . . . . . . .Chip!)
               Wee - E - E - E - E - E --
                                                FLOP!