THE TRANSVAAL

Patience, long sick to death, is dead. Too long

Have sloth and doubt and treason bidden us be

What Cromwell's England was not, when the sea

To him bore witness given of Blake how strong

She stood, a commonweal that brooked no wrong

From foes less vile than men like wolves set free

Whose war is waged where none may fight or flee —

With women and with weanlings. Speech and song

Lack utterance now for loathing. Scarce we hear

Foul tongues that blacken God's dishonoured name

With prayers turned curses and with praise found shame

Defy the truth whose witness now draws near

To scourge these dogs, agape with jaws afoam,

Down out of life. Strike, England, and strike home.