SOUTH AFRICA
Liveda woman wonderful,(May the Lord amend her!)Neither simple, kind, nor true,But her Pagan beauty drewChristian gentlemen a fewHotly to attend her.Christian gentlemen a fewFrom Berwick unto Dover;For she was South Africa,And she was South Africa,She was our South Africa,Africa all over!Half her land was dead with drouth,Half was red with battle;She was fenced with fire and sword,Plague on pestilence outpoured,Locusts on the greening swardAnd murrain on the cattle!True, ah true, and overtrue;That is why we love her!For she is South Africa,And she is South Africa,She is our South Africa,Africa all over!Bitter hard her lovers toiled,Scandalous their payment,—Food forgot on trains derailed;Cattle-dung where fuel failed;Water where the mules had staled;And sackcloth for their raiment!So she filled their mouths with dustAnd their bones with fever;Greeted them with cruel lies;Treated them despiteful-wise;Meted them calamitiesTill they vowed to leave her.They took ship and they took sail,Raging, from her borders,—In a little, none the less,They forgat their sore duresse,They forgave her waywardnessAnd returned for orders!They esteemed her favour moreThan a Throne’s foundation.For the glory of her faceBade farewell to breed and race—Yea, and made their burial-placeAltar of a Nation!Wherefore, being bought by blood,And by blood restorèdTo the arms that nearly lost,She, because of all she cost,Stands, a very woman, mostPerfect and adorèd!On your feet, and let them knowThis is why we love her!For she is South Africa,She is our South Africa,Is our own South Africa,Africa all over!
Liveda woman wonderful,(May the Lord amend her!)Neither simple, kind, nor true,But her Pagan beauty drewChristian gentlemen a fewHotly to attend her.Christian gentlemen a fewFrom Berwick unto Dover;For she was South Africa,And she was South Africa,She was our South Africa,Africa all over!Half her land was dead with drouth,Half was red with battle;She was fenced with fire and sword,Plague on pestilence outpoured,Locusts on the greening swardAnd murrain on the cattle!True, ah true, and overtrue;That is why we love her!For she is South Africa,And she is South Africa,She is our South Africa,Africa all over!Bitter hard her lovers toiled,Scandalous their payment,—Food forgot on trains derailed;Cattle-dung where fuel failed;Water where the mules had staled;And sackcloth for their raiment!So she filled their mouths with dustAnd their bones with fever;Greeted them with cruel lies;Treated them despiteful-wise;Meted them calamitiesTill they vowed to leave her.They took ship and they took sail,Raging, from her borders,—In a little, none the less,They forgat their sore duresse,They forgave her waywardnessAnd returned for orders!They esteemed her favour moreThan a Throne’s foundation.For the glory of her faceBade farewell to breed and race—Yea, and made their burial-placeAltar of a Nation!Wherefore, being bought by blood,And by blood restorèdTo the arms that nearly lost,She, because of all she cost,Stands, a very woman, mostPerfect and adorèd!On your feet, and let them knowThis is why we love her!For she is South Africa,She is our South Africa,Is our own South Africa,Africa all over!
Liveda woman wonderful,(May the Lord amend her!)Neither simple, kind, nor true,But her Pagan beauty drewChristian gentlemen a fewHotly to attend her.
Christian gentlemen a fewFrom Berwick unto Dover;For she was South Africa,And she was South Africa,She was our South Africa,Africa all over!
Half her land was dead with drouth,Half was red with battle;She was fenced with fire and sword,Plague on pestilence outpoured,Locusts on the greening swardAnd murrain on the cattle!
True, ah true, and overtrue;That is why we love her!For she is South Africa,And she is South Africa,She is our South Africa,Africa all over!
Bitter hard her lovers toiled,Scandalous their payment,—Food forgot on trains derailed;Cattle-dung where fuel failed;Water where the mules had staled;And sackcloth for their raiment!
So she filled their mouths with dustAnd their bones with fever;Greeted them with cruel lies;Treated them despiteful-wise;Meted them calamitiesTill they vowed to leave her.
They took ship and they took sail,Raging, from her borders,—In a little, none the less,They forgat their sore duresse,They forgave her waywardnessAnd returned for orders!
They esteemed her favour moreThan a Throne’s foundation.For the glory of her faceBade farewell to breed and race—Yea, and made their burial-placeAltar of a Nation!
Wherefore, being bought by blood,And by blood restorèdTo the arms that nearly lost,She, because of all she cost,Stands, a very woman, mostPerfect and adorèd!
On your feet, and let them knowThis is why we love her!For she is South Africa,She is our South Africa,Is our own South Africa,Africa all over!