Honour
I prefer a man who can hold his space,
I admire an arm that can hit a blow,
an eye that does not depart, but intensifies
with a will that is as firm as a rock!
I love a man who sanctifies his mother,
in the language learned from her pious mouth,
His soul loathed the traitor’s generation
Humbly, he stubborn lessons himself
The eye I know still weeps a tear
for a heroic generation, now in their resting place,
but a flash of faithfulness in sorrow,
who gives love again to her source.
For my mighty and fierce Afrikaner
who condemns mammon’s honour and wages,
his head and his hand for people in this land
that tread his foot on profound betrayal!
Oh, I love a man who can hold his space;
I like a blast that explodes like an act of thunder,
an eye that does not depart, but intensifies
and a will that is as firm as a rock!
