The Veld-wind's soft caressing,
Impressed in gentle blessing,
Has kissed the mounds away!
Rough carven, rude and humble,
Prone now, their Crosses crumble
Where desert wild-things stray!

Though we may deem them sleeping,
Our deathless Dead are keeping
A warden-vigil still!
Though herds their graves may trample,
Nath'less their life's ensample
Points ever to the Hill
Of Selfless Abnegation
Where lies our own salvation,
And where the Day-star gleams;
For, from the Veld's lone places
The heroes of TWO RACES
Bequeath to us their dreams!