His shield a skin, his sword a prayer:
Seventy-five years old to-day!
Yet mailed young hosts are marshaling there
To hound down in his native lair--
Oom Paul Kruger, South Africa.
Mars! Ever was such shameless shame?
Christ’s calend calls the roll to-day,
Yet Christians write the sweet Christ’s name
In blood, and seek, with sword and flame--
Oom Paul Kruger, South Africa.
Stand firm, grim shepherd-hero, stand!
The world’s watchtowers teem to-day
With men who pray with lifted hand
For you and yours, old, simple, grand--
Oom Paul Kruger, South Africa.
God’s pity for the foolish few
Who guide great England’s hosts to-day!
They cannot make the false the true;
They can but turn true hearts to you--
Oom Paul Kruger, South Africa.
Or king or cowboy, steep or plain,
Or palace hall, where, what--to-day,
All, all, despite of place or gain,
Are with you, with you heart and brain--
Oom Paul Kruger, South Africa.
Brave England’s bravest, best, her Fair,
Who love fair play, are yours to-day.
And oh, the heart, the hope, the prayer--
The _world_ is with you over there--
Oom Paul Kruger, South Africa.