Page:A Treasury of South African Poetry.djvu/272

 Who shall blush not, O my brethren, naming this his fatherland, Where no noble thoughts have been, where no noble deed is plann'd? Nay, but earthworms wriggling onwards crawl unto a heap of gold, And an instant altar rises and a craven prayer is told.

Lo! three centuries have vanished since the pennon was unfurled Wafting wisdom from the fountains welling in the ancient world; Since the sacred Cross was planted at the baptism of our land, That it may enjoy communion with the Christian nation's band. Christians came; and shrunk the savage from his father's old abode, For he knew no more the tenure on which earth is held from God; Dwelling 'mid the brutes around him, scarce himself a nobler brute, All high thoughts of human greatness from his breast torn by the root.

Then came men, our pilgrim fathers, noblest blood of sunny France— Broad-browed men of free-born spirit, lighted with the eagle glance; Spoiled by bigot priest and despot of the broad lands of their line, Rich yet in the glorious freedom that dares know itself divine: