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1903
(South African War ended, May, 1902)
HERE, where my fresh-turned furrows run, | |
| And the deep soil glistens red, | |
| I will repair the wrong that was done | |
| To the living and the dead. | |
| Here, where the senseless bullet fell, | 5 |
| And the barren shrapnel burst, | |
| I will plant a tree, I will dig a well, | |
| Against the heat and the thirst. | |
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| Here, in a large and a sunlit land, | |
| Where no wrong bites to the bone, | 10 |
| I will lay my hand in my neighbour’s hand, | |
| And together we will atone | |
| For the set folly and the red breach | |
| And the black waste of it all; | |
| Giving and taking counsel each | 15 |
| Over the cattle-kraal. | |
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| Here will we join against our foes— | |
| The hailstroke and the storm, | |
| And the red and rustling cloud that blows | |
| The locust’s mile-deep swarm. | 20 |
| Frost and murrain and floods let loose | |
| Shall launch us side by side | |
| In the holy wars that have no truce | |
| ’Twixt seed and harvest-tide. | |
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| Earth, where we rode to slay or be slain, | 25 |
| Our love shall redeem unto life. | |
| We will gather and lead to her lips again | |
| The waters of ancient strife, | |
| From the far and fiercely guarded streams | |
| And the pools where we lay in wait, | 30 |
| Till the corn cover our evil dreams | |
| And the young corn our hate. | |
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| And when we bring old fights to mind, | |
| We will not remember the sin— | |
| If there be blood on his head of my kind, | 35 |
| Or blood on my head of his kin— | |
| For the ungrazed upland, the untilled lea | |
| Cry, and the fields forlorn: | |
| “The dead must bury their dead, but ye— | |
| Ye serve an host unborn.” | 40 |
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| Bless then, Our God, the new-yoked plough | |
| And the good beasts that draw, | |
| And the bread we eat in the sweat of our brow | |
| According to Thy Law. | |
| After us cometh a multitude— | 45 |
| Prosper the work of our hands, | |
| That we may feed with our land’s food | |
| The folk of all our lands! | |
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| Here, in the waves and the troughs of the plains, | |
| Where the healing stillness lies, | 50 |
| And the vast, benignant sky restrains | |
| And the long days make wise— | |
| Bless to our use the rain and the sun | |
| And the blind seed in its bed, | |
| That we may repair the wrong that was done | 55 |
| To the living and the dead! | |
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