Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/271

 Waking noble aspirations where the human soul seemed dead; God-like then is human labour: brethren rend'ring brethren blest, Feel themselves divinely nurtured, know a God within their breast.

Yet,—for ye have erred, my brethren,—ye have scorned the blessed gift, Wearying strength that is immortal in the selfish race of thrift; Lo! your dead religion's priesthood onward with your earth-god reels! Earthward, sacrificial victims! Stain with blood the chariot-wheels! Perish there; your work is ended, as your sordid work ye chose, Death, corruption, base oblivion, guerdon of your toils and throes: Worse yet than the senseless sluggard who his talent laid in earth, Thus to lower to dishonour all that proves man's primal worth.

Veiling as a thing forgotten, hid from you in Nature's tome, This, as the broad sunlight blazing—"Elsewhere is your spirit's home"— Darkening the glorious vision which all men have felt in youth, Of majestic human grandeur blended quite with God-like youth.