I build them boats and houses--
I check their mountain roads--
I bear their double burdens--
The squeaking, creaking loads.
Adown the broken hill sides
My long, high pipings run,
To bring their water to them
Adripping ’neath the sun.
And when from spring and river
The weary climbers strain,
’Tis I who hold the nectar
To bring them life again.
I am the quivering bridges
That span the deep ravine--
I am the matted fences
That twist and wind between.
_When ye sing of the lace Tjemara tree--_
_When ye speak of the swaying Palm--_
_When ye talk of the ferned Pitcairnia,_
_And the monkey’s wild alarm:_
_When ye tell of the blazing sunsets--_
_When ye know ye are nearly through--_
_Bend ye a knee to a Sovereign Lord--_
_As my flat-nosed children do._