Lived a woman wonderful, |
(May the Lord amend her!) |
Neither simple, kind, nor true, |
But her Pagan beauty drew |
Christian gentlemen a few |
Hotly to attend her. |
|
Christian gentlemen a few |
From Berwick unto Dover; |
For she was South Africa, |
And she was South Africa, |
She was Our South Africa, |
Africa all over! |
|
Half her land was dead with drouth, |
Half was red with battle; |
She was fenced with fire and sword, |
Plague on pestilence outpoured, |
Locusts on the greening sward |
And murrain on the cattle! |
|
True, ah, true, and overtrue. |
That is why we love her! |
For she is South Africa, |
And she is South Africa, |
She is Our South Africa, |
Africa all over! |
|
Bitter hard her lovers toiled, |
Scandalous their payment, - |
Food forgot on trains derailed; |
|
Water where the mules had staled; |
And sackcloth for their raiment! |
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So she filled their mouths with dust |
And their bones with fever; |
Greeted them with cruel lies; |
Treated them despiteful-wise; |
Meted them calamities |
Till they vowed to leave her! |
|
They took ship and they took sail, |
Raging, from her borders - |
In a little, none the less, |
They forgat their sore duresse, |
They forgave her frowardness |
And returned for orders! |
|
They esteemed her favour more |
Than a Throne’s foundation. |
For the glory of her face |
Bade farewell to breed and race - |
Yea, and made their burial-place |
Altar of a Nation! |
|
Wherefore, being bought by blood, |
And by blood restored |
To the arms that nearly lost, |
She, because of all she cost, |
Stands, a very woman, most |
|
|
On your feet, and let them know |
This is why we love her! |
|
She is Our South Africa, |
|
Africa all over! |