  Bright land which stretchest down through Southern seas On which the Sun loves well to look—South Africa— Thou now hast wakened—and the stirring breeze Which comes from the northward fills thee with a soul. Arise, throw off thy shackles and advance— Among the nations claim thy place, and live! The time has come to shake off thy dull sleep Of slavery and apathy: thou wast made to be A home for millions of the brave and free. For God has blest thee with a dower of wealth, Of tree, of herb, of pasture, and of field: Thy children laugh aloud in jocund health, And all things men require thy plains can yield; At faintest knock thy mountain portals ope, Revealing treasure glimpses fair to see— Rich diamonds, metals, aye, Imperial gold, Are in the dower which God hath given thee. Arise, ye Lotus-eaters of the South, and know The plenteous blessings which from labour flow. As men have reaped great Europe—pouring down From Scandinavia and far Baltic’s wave, So must our future too be reaped—now sown, The crops will grow above this era’s grave. South Afric calls aloud to Europe, filled With overflowing energy and youth, Come in your thousands—work as your fathers willed, Good Hope will turn to Hope at last fulfilled, And Southern Africa be great—as God has willed. Alex. Wilmot. [Image of decorative bar not available.] |
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