  | PAGE | | At times when under cover I ’ave said, | 86 | | Files, | 17 | | God of our fathers, known of old, | 121 | | ‘Here is nothing new nor aught unproven’ say the Trumpets, | 1 | | Here, where my fresh-turned furrows run, | 53 | | I do not love my Empire’s foes, | 104 | | I wish my mother could see me now, with a fence-post under my arm, | 64 | | Let us admit it fairly, as a business people should, | 13 | | Lived a woman wonderful, | 49 | | Me that ’ave been what I’ve been, | 59 | | No doubt but ye are the People—your throne is above the King’s, | 31 | | Not in the camp his victory lies, | 23 | | Only two African kopjes, | 82 | | Out o’ the wilderness, dusty an’ dry, | 72 | | Peace is declared, an’ I return, | 117 | | Smells are surer than sounds or sights, | 95 | | Sudden the desert changes, | 8 | | The bachelor ’e fights for one, | 91 | | The General ’eard the firin’ on the flank, | 98 | | There is a word you often see, pronounce it as you may, | 113 | | There is a world outside the one you know, | 110 | | The Word came down to Dives in Torment where he lay, | 40 | | We’re foot—slog—slog—slog—sloggin’ over Africa! | 88 | | We’ve rode and fought and ate and drunk as rations come to hand, | 77 | | When by the labour of my ’ands, | 102 | | Who recalls the twilight and the ranged tents in order, | 26 |
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