Classic Poem

Ye who dwell on the lonely farmsteads,
By wind-swept kopje, and sun-drench'd plain;
And ye who spring from the misty Island —
Whose brood has conquered the restless main:

Lo, the spirits of all the fallen
Call aloud from the blood-stain'd veld;
List to their voices, pause and hearken —
Ere hasting day into darkness melt: —

" Brothers, we fought for you the battle;
Pour'd our blood on the veld like rain;
Garner ye nought of that bitter sowing?
Shall all our toil be spent in vain?

" Purge yourselves of your petty hatreds;
Your mean distrust; let discord cease;
Out of the wreck of your strife and tumult
Rear a temple of lasting peace!

" Out of life's chaos of storm and evil
Springs the spirit of truth sublime:
So, weave from the past — that tatter'd garment —
The golden robe of the coming time!

" Lo, ye have passed thro' the fiery furnace;
Now for the anvil fit are ye;
There to be welded, wrought and fashioned,
Into a nation great and free!

" Ye who pause in ignoble languor;
Ye who look to the paltry gain,
Thinking of self and not of country;
Has all our blood been spilt in vain?

" Capture and crown the flying moment;
Pause not, behold it is passing fair!
Brothers, arise to exalted action —
Or wither for aye in the old despair!

" Falter not, ye are more than brothers,
Sally forward, now, hand in hand;
Bury the past, and feed the future;
Think of your children — your sun-lov'd Land!

" Widen your thoughts to your veld's own vastness;
Cleanse your hearts like your cloudless skies;
Dwell in an atmosphere, high and holy,
Where discord vanishes — hatred dies!

" Then from your loins shall spring a people,
Free and joyous — a giant race —
Scions of Nelson and De Ruyter,
Of Richard King and Peter Uys!"