Africa's sun is shining above the horizon clear,
The day for us is rising, for black men far and near;
Our God is in the front line, the heav'nly batallion leads,
Onward, make your banners shine, ye men of noble deeds.

There's a flag we love so well-
The red, the black and green,
Greatest emblem tongues can tell,
The brightest ever seen.

When pandemonium breaks, the earth will tremble fast,
Nor oceans, seas nor lakes shall save the first or last;
Our suffering has been long, our cries to God ascending;
We have counted ev'ry wrong which calls for an amending.

So into battle let us go, with the Cross before;
The Angels, great, from high to low, watch forevermore;
We see the enemy scatter, and watch their ranks divide-
With God there is no fetter for whom He doth provide.

All God's children, in trouble, or burdened down with care,
No matter where, how humble, His love is ever there;
So cheerful let our courage be and rally for the King,
The Saviour, Christ, the Lord, is He, whom angels tidings bring.

Ho, Africa, victorious! See, the foe goes down!
The Christ and Simon lead us to wear the triumphant crown;
Jesus remembers dearly the sacrifice with the cross,
So raise those banners gladly-never to suffer loss!

And so the war is ending, the victor's palm is ours,
Crushed 'neath a sorry bending, like dead, fallen flowers
Thus lay the proud men of the day, all lost, forever,
Where the demons never say to God, "We'll deliver."

0 weary son of sorrow great!
How apt art thou to bow and grieve,
And count all things thy solemn fate,
As if thou canst not self retrieve!

May I not tell the story true
Of that Eternal Force that is-
The Force that makes the world and you;
The Force that rules and ever lives?

Thou art the living force in part,
The Spirit of the Mighty 1;
The God of Heaven and your heart
Is Spirit that can never die.

You're what you are in heart and mind,
Because you will it so to be;
The man who tries himself to find,
Is light to all, and great is he.

In each and every one is God,
In everything atomic life;
There is no death beneath the sod,
This fact, not knowing, brings the strife.

August 26, 1927

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.