Classic Poem

Behold, my son, the wheel-scarr'd road!
Be shamed, and be afraid,
For we, the first, were greater men
Than those for whom we made.
We wrought in death and hunger,
We fought the veld — we few!
Behold, this effort of our hands,
This road we built for you....

We struggled through the dongas,
We strove against the height
Until the further stars stoop'd down
To mock us in the fight.
The swinging axes drew us on,
The ringing blasts broke through;
See here, — the powder staining still
The road we built for you.

We link'd the Known and Unknown, —
The Known that did not care! —
Cared not, we knew, but labour'd on
For spoils we should not bear.
We sow'd, ye reap. We had our cake,
We cannot eat it, too;
Yet, in the image of our hearts,
We carved this road for you.

Out of great hope we plann'd the Road...
And with great toil we made
This rain-wash'd trail — this wooden bridge —
So grass grown and decay'd.
Whiles then the gods had envied us,
When every length was new,
Now who can blame them who despise
This road we built for you?

This useless thing of sand and grass!
Unsightly bridge and frail! —
Dead stumps and riven stones speak not
To those who use the Rail.
But, son, no single mile we made
Without long toil — we few!
Remember then those dauntless hands
That built this road for you!