SONNETS OF THE CAPE.
I.
The Oak Avenue, Cape Town.
Oft, when my feet at evening homeward tread
The stately cloisters of the oak along,
My fervent soul breaks into grateful song,
And I a glad, rapt worshipper am led.
God, what a glorious prospect is outspread!
Impersoned nature here hath built her shrine:
On yon great altar sacrifice divine
She offers to her Maker. On the head
Of the majestic peak upon the west,
Her favoured seat, at eve oft sitteth she,
Soothing the busy city into rest,
Whilst the sun setting lights the golden sea.
Here, in thy fane, bright Presence, I divest
My heart of lower thoughts, and bow to heaven and thee.
II.
Night.
Dost thou not love, O angel of the night,
Above all others this fair southern land?
For thou hast gemmed its skies with lavish hand,
With rarest stars and constellations bright.
