On your feet, and let them know
This is why we love her!
For she is South Africa,
She is Our South Africa,
Is Our Own South Africa,
Africa all over!
THE BURIAL
1902
(C. J. Rhodes, buried in the Matoppos, April 10, 1902)
WHEN that great Kings return to clay,
Or Emperors in their pride,
Grief of a day shall fill a day,
Because its creature died.
But we we reckon not with those
Whom the mere Fates ordain,
This Power that wrought on us and goes
Back to the Power again.
Dreamer devout, by vision led
Beyond our guess or reach,
The travail of his spirit bred
Cities in place of speech.
So huge the all-mastering thought that drove—
So brief the term allowed—
Nations, not words, he linked to prove
His faith before the crowd.
It is his will that he look forth
Across the world he won—
The granite of the ancient North—
Great spaces washed with sun.
