On reading Louis Botha's article in the Contemporary
Review for the month of November, 1902.
How came his right that he should dare,
He, and his two mates-at-noble-arms,
To stand erect, and not with bowed heads and bare,
Beg mites for build-up of their homestead-farms,
Their hearths which Ravage blacked with sorry flame,
Their children stricken within pesthouse gates,
And all rank glories wherein Empire came,
To foist her mission on these latter dates;
Not be lions of the hour, garb their pride
In neat devisings at the conqueror's hands;
But let their prayer on yon throb go wide
Which fellows justice with the far-offs't strands?
O, hearts, whose fires whet the valiant sword;
Pushed how to heave the suppliant word!
O, guilty act! and worthy Fortune's frown,
That ye should speak, let yet accord
This worthy latter with your erst renown!
Still trust, stand nobly up, tho' all seem down!