Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/269

 TO YOUNG SOUTH AFRICA. ! a dream-shape in the distance beckoning on to nobler deeds: Up, my brethren, rise and follow where the star-wreathed vision leads; Leave your toil of fruitless labour, vainly with o'er wearied hands Weaving aye your web of fortune from the dull earth's yellow sands, Striving with your lofty talents to enslave yourselves to clay, Chaining spirits born for ages to the task-work of a day.

Toil!—but not for wasteful nothings; toil!—but not for self alone; This it is "for ever rolling upwards still the rolling stone"; This it is the curse of Eden, still bequeathed from man to man: "Strive but vainly,—work and gain not," echoing aye the angel's ban. Yet upon this curse a blessing when the god-like human will Moulds it unto glorious purpose, and doth hallow all the ill!

Never sainted prophet stricken prostrate on the burning sod, Trembling 'neath the awful glory streaming from the present God,