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 Boer Dreams

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There’s a Land that I dream of,

It oft comes to Me;

In visions or real,

I cannot perceive.

Land of milk and honey,

That it’s claimed to be;

Like sirens or vixens,

Reaching out for Me.

I let myself be carried,

Like clouds in the wind;

Meandering where-

The Spirit does send.

A Land of the Martyrs,

Anguished are the cries;

Faces stained with tears,

Beneath-their bodies lie.

Those Bitter-Ender Boers,

Let it NOT be said;

Abandoned the Fight,

Afraid of their dead.

I struggle to awaken,

From sights that I see;

The sounds that I hear,

Deep pain within Me!

Of the Land of the Martyrs,

 Their blood soaks the sand;

A token down payment,

To purchase the Land.

A great struggle’s coming,

It can’t be far off;

This Land that I dream of,

Is it “win” or “loss”?

Yes, the Voice of those Martyrs,

Crying out to Me;

Like sirens or vixens,

Drawing near to Me!

There’s a Land that I dream of,

It oft comes to me;

In visions or real,

I cannot perceive.

For the Land of the Boers,

Come I unto thee;

May then those voices rest,

When I fight for these!

 

Edward Charles Anderson

May 29, 2014

 

 

 

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