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Poem by Thomas Pringle
Poem by Thomas Pringle
Franschhoek
To this far nook the Christian exiles fled, Each fettering tie of earthly texture breaking; Wealth, country, kindred, cheerfully forsaking, For that good cause in which their fathers bled. By Faith supported and by Freedom led, A fruitful field amidst the desert making, They dwelt secure when kings and priests were quaking, And taught the waste to yield them wine and bread. And is their worth forgot? their spirit gone? Now, in the breach of wickedness forth-breaking, At the lone watchman's warning call awaking, To lift the faithful standard is there none? Yes — still 'mong the dry bones there is a shaking, And a faint glimmering still where former lustre shone.
Poem by Thomas Pringle
Franschhoek
To this far nook the Christian exiles fled, They broke every bond that tied them to the earth; They willingly left wealth, homeland, and family, For the noble cause for which their ancestors fought. Supported by Faith and led by Freedom, They cultivated a fruitful land in the desert, They lived safely while kings and priests trembled, And taught the barren land to provide them with wine and bread. Has their value been forgotten? Is their spirit lost? Now, as wickedness breaks forth, At the lone watchman's call, they awaken, Is there no one to raise the faithful banner? Yes — even among the dry bones, there is movement, And a faint light still shines where it once glimmered.