English

Not locomotive-engines, snorting dragons
Belching black smoke, I sing, but tented wagons:
Wagons that like the battered caravels
Of Christopher Columbus by their spells
Wrested the unknown from its secret cells;
Wagons that conquered plain and mountain-belt—
Cradles that rocked the Children of the Veld
Into a nation stubborn strong and hard,
Narrow, suspicious, slow to give regard
To the rights and views of those of other race,
But, won to friendship, friends of steadfast breed.
Nor sing I petrol's toys of dizzy pace

Would but indulgent Fortune send
To me a kind, and faithful Friend,
One who to Virtue's Laws is true,
And does her nicest Rules pursue;
One Pious, Lib'ral, Just and Brave,
And to his Passions not a Slave;
Who full of Honour, void of Pride,
Will freely praise, and freely chide;
But not indulge the smallest Fault,
Nor entertain one slighting Thought:
Who still the same will ever prove,
Will still instruct, and still will love:
In whom I safely may confide,
And with him all my Cares divide:
Who has a large capacious Mind,

The sun is sinking fast;
The daylight dies;
Let love awake and pay
Her evening sacrifice.

As Christ, upon the Cross,
In death reclin'd,
Into His Father's hands
His parting soul resign'd;

So now herself my soul
Would wholly give,
Into His sacred charge,
In whom all spirits live:

So now beneath His eye
Would calmly rest,
Without a wish or thought
Abiding in the breast,

Save that His will be done;
Whate'er betide;
Dead to herself; and dead
In Him, to all beside.

Help, mighty God!
The strong man bows himself,
The good and wise are few,
The standard-bearers faint,
The enemy prevails.
Help, God of might,
In this thy Church's night!

Help, mighty God!
Evil is now our good,
And error is our truth,
Darkness is now our light,
Iniquity o'erflows.
Help, God of might,
Defend, defend the right!

Help, mighty God!
Men turn their ear away
From the great voice divine;
And each one seeks his own
Dark oracle of lies.
Help, God of might,

Where once our fathers offer'd praise and prayer,
And sacrifice sublime;
Where rose upon the incense-breathing air
The chant of olden time;—

Now, amid arches mouldering to the earth,
The boding night-owl raves;
And pleasure-parties dance in idle mirth
O'er the forgotten graves.

Or worse; the heretic of modern days
Has made those walls his prize;
And in the pile our Faith alone could raise,
That very Faith denies!

God of our fathers, look upon our woe!
How long wilt Thou not hear?

I go to life and not to death;
From darkness to life's native sky
I go from sickness and from pain
To health and immortality.
Let our farewell then be tearless,
Since I bid farewell to tears;
Write this day of my departure
Festive in your coming years.

I go from poverty to wealth,
From rags to raiment angel-fair,
From the pale leanness of this flesh
To beauty such as saints shall wear.
Let our farewell then be tearless,
Since I bid farewell to tears;
Write this day of my departure

Our warrior went to meet the foe
With good stout heart and steadfast face,
Becoming one with whom did go
Hopes, prayers, the freedom of a race!

Our warrior played the hero's part,
Returned the conquered chief his sword,
And won again his humbled heart
By kindly soldier act and word.

Our warrior met a deadlier foe—
More grim and terrible than he—
Whose sword was charmed 'gainst any blow,
Who met his gaze and would not flee.

Oh, dreadful Fate, that overthrew
The blade that flashed when Vicksburg fell!

When Silas married Rhody Spence,
Folks thought 'twas kind o' funny;
They argied he was lackin' sense,
Cos she was lackin' money.

But pretty? Bless ye! She was pink
An' plump as any pippin;
An' when she giv' Si' Blois the wink
She sent three others skippin'.

Now, lots o' girls aroun' our place
Had set their caps for Silas,
An' 'twixt his money an' her face
Things seemed to sort o' rile us.

Them was the days when weddin' rings
Was weighed by friends and minions

Thrice hail the still unconquered King of Song!
For all adore and love the Master Art
That reareth his throne in temple of the heart;
And smiteth chords of passion full and strong
Till music sweet allures the sorrowing throng!
Then by the gentle curving of his bow
Maketh every mellow note in cadence flow,
To recompense the world of all its wrong.
Although the earth is full of cares and throes
That tempt the crimson stream of life to cloy,
Thou mak'st glad hearts and trip'st “fantastic toes,”

They knew, those gone, bent backs, the lash's out
On crimsoning and shudd'ring flesh and thirst
And hunger and all weariness, yet durst
Nor pause, nor rest; but toil and toil till shut
Of day sent them to fall in noisome hut
Herded e'en in sleep Tortured, accursed,
These knew this life as death and death at worst
A peace when earth above their bones was put

But we, their children, bone of them and blood
Bound by new fetters, tortured still, have seen
A light: We know that soul and mind are free