I Have One Great Fear In My

There Is A Lovely Road That Runs From Ixopo Into The Hills. These Hills Are Grass-covered And Rolling, And They Are Lovely Beyond Any Singing Of It.

Sorrow Is Better Than Fear. Fear Is A Journey, A Terrible Journey. But, Sorrow Is At Least An Arriving.

It Is Not Permissible To Add To One's Possesions If These Things Can Only Be Done At The Cost Of Other Men. Such Development Has Only One True Name, And That Is Exploitation.

Ask Yourself Not If This Or That Is Expedient, But If It Is Right.

There Is Not Much Talking Now. A Silence Falls Upon Them All. This Is No Time To Talk Of Hedges And Fields, Or The Beauties Of Any Country. Sadness And Fear And Hate, How They Well Up In The Heart And Mind, Whenever One Opens Pages Of These Messengers Of Doom. Cry For The Broken Tribe, For The Law And The Custom That Is Gone. Aye, And Cry Aloud For The Man Who Is Dead, For The Woman And Children Bereaved. Cry, The Beloved Country, These Things Are Not Yet At An End. The Sun Pours Down On The Earth, On The Lovely Land That Man Cannot Enjoy. He Knows Only The Fear Of His Heart.