Part 12

And He showed me a River, whose life-giving waters Are pure and like crystal so clear. It flows from the throne of the merciful Father, And Jesus our Saviour so dear.

In the streets of the City and sides of the river The Tree of eternal Life grows; Its fruits are all savoury, its leaves are all healthy, And healing to every one flows.

No curse shall be found in that city so glorious, Where God and the Lamb ever reign; There His servants shall serve Him, His children shall see Him, His name in their foreheads remain.

No night shall be there,--neither candle nor sunlight,-- The Lord shall in glory there shine; There in bliss they will reign, for the Lord God hath said it, The God of the prophets divine.

“Behold, I come quickly, to bless him that keepeth The sayings and words of this book; Then seal not these prophecies, telling of judgment, But let them all into it look.

“The time is at hand, and the unjust shall perish, The filthy shall filthy remain, The righteous shall still with more righteousness glitter, The holy his pureness retain.

“Behold, I come quickly, let all this remember, My righteous reward is with Me; And surely to each one will I give a portion, According as his works shall be.

“As I am the Alpha, so I am Omega,-- The First and the Last and the All; And he who puts trust in the Offspring of David, Shall stand and shall nevermore fall.”

The Bride and the Spirit together are saying: “Oh, come to Him, thirsty one, come!” And he who will hear it, and he who will have it, May drink of that water from Home.

Once more He who testifieth all these things saith: “Surely I will speedily come.” My heart, with a longing response, gives the answer: “Even so, Lord Jesus! oh come!”

_Rev. F. J. Ochse._

_EZEKIEL XLVII._ 1-12.

And I saw a little stream Come trickling out from underneath the altar; And as it rippled sunward with glad psalter, It sparkled in its beam.

A tiny stream it was As it issued from the threshold of its home; But with growing bulk and power to overcome The sandy desert, it became at length, A mighty river, glorious in its strength, O’er which I could not pass.

Both its sides were lined with trees All along its strange course through the desert sand. Trees of fruit and beauty in a barren land-- Trees with healing in their leaves for every pain-- Trees of fragrant odours floating o’er the plain, Borne by the desert’s breeze.

Into the sea this stream With strength and vitalising power flowed, Till everything new life and vigour showed. Great multitudes of fish this dead sea filled, Which of its deadly saltness now was healed. Thus ended my whole dream.

And when I woke methought I saw God’s mercy, like this stream,--its source The Upper Sanctuary--this world its course-- The secret of its healing power, the blood Poured on the altar under which it flowed,-- Free pardon Jesus bought.

The Dead Sea’s awful gloom,-- Fit symbol of this world of death and sin. Its new state, with the river pouring in New life and health, where death and silence reigned,-- Fit emblem of the “paradise regained” From sin’s eternal doom.

_Rev. F. J. Ochse._

_CHANGE._

Yes, all things change in this poor world of ours,-- The ocean’s waves, the sand upon its shores, The rocks which bound it even slowly change. Summer’s warm breath makes place for Winter’s cold. Spring’s youthful freshness, beautiful and gay, Is doomed to Autumn’s sadness, age, decay. Life’s phases change: now happiness and joy; Then misery and sorrow take their turn. Now health and plenty, shared with loved ones near; Then pain and sickness, poverty, despair, For the poor, exiled, friendless wanderer. Now in _this_ field, with friends and blessings rich, The labourer works content; then parting comes, And to a new and unknown sphere he turns His wandering steps, and hopes and prays and works. Friends also sometimes change: the tender flower Of friendship often withers in the blast Of cruel, sinful scandal, cursed of God. Others indifferent grow: pleased by new friends, The old ones are neglected and forgot. Yes, all things change in this poor world of ours-- God’s love alone remains unchangeable. His love alone can keep us constant, true. No blast can wither friendship’s tender flower That blooms beneath His atmosphere of love. Then let all things in this poor world of ours Change and decay;--no matter, we have _God_. His promises are sure, His blessings great; His faithful guidance will be ever ours. A place awaits us in His glorious Home, Where _we_ shall also be _unchangeable_.

_Rev. F. J. Ochse._

_HEAVENLY FRIENDSHIP._

There is a hand, whose grasp is love, Though not a lover’s grasp; Its touch wakes feelings far above The lover’s fondest clasp.

There is an eye, whose sparkle shows The tender holy flame Of deep affection, and o’erflows With love for each dear name.

There is a heart, whose throbs proclaim A constant, ceaseless flow Of life and love for all; the same In happiness or woe.

A lip, whose words--to man on earth, Are words of life and peace; To God, are prayers of priceless worth, Which never, never cease.

Such is our Saviour dear, our Heavenly Friend. Most like Him is the mortal friend, who tries To lead us ever nearer to that land Where Friendship blooms in sunny, cloudless skies.

_Rev. F. J. Ochse._

_LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM._

From whence comes all this weariness of heart, This anxious longing for a place of rest, These greedy cravings for the silent tomb, Where all in deep forgetfulness repose? Surely man was not made to while away His costly time in brooding over wrongs And disappointments meeting him through life, As if there were no rays of sunshine left To gladden him along his way to Heaven. His life is not an empty, idle dream, But dread reality, composed of _facts_, Whose fruits will follow with their just rewards. He _has_ an object which to live for here; And if that object be to live for God, And for the good of those who him surround, He may consider his a life well spent. Then let us follow firmly duty’s call With willing hearts, forgetful of the past,-- Still trusting in the strength and love of God, Still striving further onward for the crown, Still rising higher heavenward to our goal, Till we at last that longed for Home attain, And rest upon the bosom of our God.

_Rev. F. J. Ochse._

_THE DEFENCE OF RORKE’S DRIFT._

JANUARY 22-23, 1879.

Come listen for a moment, All ye, whose peaceful life In even flow is ne’er disturbed By scenes of blood and strife; Who sit around your hearth fires, Secure from war’s alarms; This humble lay sets forth to-day A British deed of arms.

Left on the wild, lone border, A small but fearless band, Guarding the watery entrance To savage Zululand; On the warm mid-day breezes, Like thunder’s distant sound, Came the long roll of cannon Far o’er the hostile ground, And we wondered that our column So soon the foe had found.

Then came two flying horsemen Riding with loosened rein, And the powdery dust like a whirlwind rose As they scoured across the plain; A few more rapid hoof-strokes, And we heard the news they bore-- “In yonder glen nigh half our men Lie weltering in their gore!

“’Twas shortly after noontide, The column was away; Swept the dark hordes in myriads down Like wolves upon their prey; Vainly the deadly hailstorm Boomed from the cannon loud-- Vainly we tried to stem the tide Of the black surging crowd.

“Our men, too soon surrounded, Were slaughtered as they stood, Facing their slayers to the last, Dying as soldiers should. How we escaped we know not, From that fierce whirlwind’s frown, But on this post a conquering host E’en now is marching down!”

As men who dream, we heard them, And awestruck, stood aghast; And through each heart there went a chill Like the breath of an icy blast; We thought of those who left us In the glow of their martial pride, Now with the dead in the slaughter red, Stark on the wild hill-side.

We looked to our defences Ere darkness should come on, And others passed from the fatal field, They warned us, and were gone; We called on them to aid us In the approaching fight-- They would not hear--the voice of fear Lent wings to their headlong flight.

“The foe comes down in thousands, Away--for all is lost!” “Not so--our orders are to hold The Drift at any cost; Long has the firing sounded And succour may be nigh, If not--why then we’re Englishmen, At duty’s call we’ll die!”

We set to work undaunted To raise a barricade, With mealie bags and scattered stores A breastwork soon had made; And scarcely was it finished, When burst upon our sight, Dark as the lowering storm-cloud Sweeps the blue vaulted height, Moving along the fair hill-side, In vast black lines extending wide, Rank upon rank of warriors tried, In panoply of savage pride Advancing to the fight.

Above the dusky phalanx We marked each ring-girt head, We felt the hard earth tremble Under their heavy tread,-- The martial tread of thousands In full array of war-- Each sinewy frame well trained to wield Broad assegai and tufted shield, Washed upon many a hard-fought field In vanquished foeman’s gore.

Yes, on they come in thousands-- One hundred strong we stand, Against the very pick and flower Of warrior Zululand: And how may we resist them, Or hope to hold our own, Flushed as they be with victory-- The greatest e’er they’ve known?

They pressed in silence forward At a swift but steady run, Red glowed their blades in the golden beams Of the declining sun; With gliding undulation, On, on their masses came-- A mighty crash--a lightning flash-- Streamed the death-dealing flame. Still the black wave rolled onward-- Again the word rang out, With the sharp volley’s crackling voice Arose a deafening shout: Blent with the rush of thousands Over the rumbling ground, The battle-cry pealed to the sky, Starting the echoes round.

’Tis long since that wild slogan Rallied these bands to war, The dreaded hosts of Zululand Now in the field once more; Oft have the neighbouring tribesmen, At the blood-curdling tone, Awoke in the calm still hours of night, To flee by their blazing kraals’ red light, To forest thickets lone.

’Neath far Quathlamba’s ridges Cut clear against the sky, Where now, upon those grassy slopes, Snug homesteads nestling lie; As sweeping down resistless, A black o’erwhelming flood, The ruthless hordes fell on their prey, And broad their dark destroying way Was long mapped out, for many a day, By ruins soaked in blood.

Their forward van all shaken, They wavered--then fell back-- Bestrewn with dark grim corpses Was all the gory track: They turned to seek for cover, They’d seen what we could do, And overhead, with angry whiz, Like hail their bullets flew.

And by their hosts surrounded, Nigh forty men to one, We vainly scanned the darkling waste Ere twilight should be done; As waif on the wide ocean, Looks for the rescuing sail, When dim shades sweep the surging deep, And louder roars the gale.

Behind the western ridges The sun’s red lamp sank down, The twilight shadows seemed to cast O’er all a threatening frown; We gazed with mingled feelings On the last-fading beam, Should we, too, lie ’neath the cold grey sky, Stark in the dawning gleam?

We looked at one another, Then at the purpling west, Then came the thought of our noble trust, Filling each soldier breast; And there, that trust defending, We’d perish as we stood-- Telling of death seemed the night-wind’s breath, Heavy and dank with blood.

Again the thrilling war-cry In wild shrill notes rang out, Again th’ infuriate mass bore down Upon our frail redoubt; They poured their swarming numbers Over the barricade-- But one short stand, our gallant band That first mad onslaught stayed.

Yet fiercer still and bolder They rushed into the fight-- When to the smoke-beclouded sky Shone a dull reddening light: With a chill of consternation We marked the lurid glare, Knowing that then our wounded men Were helpless lying there.

Then from the glowing furnace We brought them one by one, But the foe closed up too quickly, Ere half our work was done; We faced the yelling masses, We braved the crackling fire, Till through the smoke the fierce flame broke, Forcing us to retire.

The cruel demons entered, All eager for their prey, The helpless sick and wounded Were butchered as they lay; As the huge flames roared upward With red and hungry light, In the fierce glare that met us there-- Stood all revealed the fight.

Widened the glowing circle Crowded with clamouring bands, All weirdly shone the flashing blades Brandished by grisly hands; Again, again upon us, Poured the dark howling flood, Quivered the ground beneath their bound, Red with our comrades’ blood.

We thought of these comrades butchered As they unresisting lay; We ceased to give a passing care To the issue of the fray; We only longed for vengeance On all the fiendish crew, To let them feel our British steel, To strike both oft and true.

The flaming pile sank inwards With a roar like thunder’s tone; Arose a sickening stench of blood And many a gurgling moan; Still the terrific war-cry Blent with our furious shout, Harder they pressed upon us-- Quicker we drove them out-- Hurling them back in the gory track, Upon the clamouring rout.

And eyes with lust of carnage, Like coals through the darkness gleamed, And bayonet crashed with stabbing spear, Thick the red torrent streamed: Drowning the roar of battle-- Drowning the deafening clang-- Each demon yell, like a blast of hell, Fiercer and higher rang.

Still the bright volley’s flashing Showed the wild frenzied crowd, Their shields and spear-hafts clashing-- Their war shouts pealing loud-- And myriad eyeballs glowing, Like starlit ocean tossed-- And blood, like water, flowing, When splintering weapons crossed.

Our bayonets blunt and twisted, All dripping black with gore; And many an open bleeding gash Its own grim witness bore; Our brains all faint and dizzy, Our throats all parched with thirst, At every shot our guns grew hot As though about to burst.

Again, again, we met them Through the long fearful night; We fought as ne’er we fought before And ne’er again may fight, To ’venge our slaughtered comrades, To guard our solemn trust, And to reclaim our country’s name Trampled in savage dust.

We stood upon our rampart, As paled the morning star, We saw the baffled foe retreat Over the hills afar; The long night’s deadly struggle Seemed like a troubled dream-- Our peril passed, new hope at last Came with the dawning gleam.

Piled high against our breastwork, And scattered o’er the plain, Four hundred of their warrior strength Lay stark amid the slain-- Lay where their fierce hot lifeblood The greedy earth had wet-- Still terrible, in threatening scowl, Each grim dead face was set.

Our strength and ammunition Alike were well-nigh spent-- On an approaching dust-cloud Our eager glance was bent, There moving slow and rising, Far in the hostile land, Till, through the haze, our straining gaze Descried an armèd band.

Is it the foe returning, ’Gainst us in greater strength?-- We watched the distant column Deploying in its length: Hurrah--the British scarlet Gleams in the morning sun-- We’ll see once more old England’s shore, Her thanks we’ve fairly won.

Yes, for old England’s honour And for her perilled might, We strove with vast and whelming odds, From eve till morning light; And thus with front unflinching, One hundred strong we stood, And held the post ’gainst a maddened host Drunken with British blood.

And twelve from out our number Their brave career had run, Their final muster-roll had passed, And their last duty done; So carefully we laid them Deep in the green earth’s breast, An alien sod above them trod;-- Peace with their ashes rest!

Her sons, in gallant story, Shall sound old England’s fame, And by fresh deeds of glory Shall keep alive her name; And when, above her triumphs, The golden curtains lift-- Be treasured long, in page and song, The memory of RORKE’S DRIFT.

_Bertram Mitford._

“_RORKE’S DRIFT._”

JANUARY 22, 1879.

On the wild river’s bank two horsemen appear, They are bearers of tidings that fill them with fear; “Haste, put us across, and prepare for the fight, The Zulus are out in their uttermost might; They rushed on our camp like a dark hungry flood, And their spears are all red with our countrymen’s blood.” “Hurrah, we will fight for Old England.”

We heard them, a moment our pulses stood still, Then went we to work with a heart and a will-- Two stores to defend--with a hundred, all told, And thirty sick mates. “Come, boys, let’s be bold; Let’s fasten the waggons together with chain, And build up our ramparts with sacks full of grain.” “Hurrah, we will fight for Old England.”

What is that coming on like a herd of black game, Round the hill to the south, with the speed of a flame, With feathery plumes like wild manes flaunting high, And a sound like a myriad wings in the sky? The _Zulus_! for now in the sun’s glance appears The quivering lightning-like sheen of their spears. “Now, boys, let us fight for Old England.”

_They are on us!_ Six hundred at first, with wild cries-- The lust of the battle still red in their eyes-- The blood of our comrades still wet on each blade, And see! there come thousands behind to their aid-- But, thanks to the heads that directed our hands, All firm and unbroken our little camp stands. “Hurrah, we will fight for Old England.”

It stands like a rock the Atlantic’s wild wave Breaks over and harms not.--We took and we gave-- They leapt on our “walls” with stab, hiss, and yell-- They came on in thousands, dark legions from hell! Our bayonets were ready, our rifles were _there_, And their small tongues of flame spoke of death in the air! “Hurrah, how we fought for Old England.”

They took half our fort--foot by foot--inch by inch-- They lighted the roof, and yet none would flinch; We threw up another redoubt with the maize, And fought by the light of the hospital blaze When the darkness came down--and all through the night Surrounded, we kept up the terrible fight. “Hurrah, how we fought for Old England!”

Ah! who shall declare what brave deeds were done, Ere the world woke again to the light of the sun? For twelve long, long hours we stood at our posts, And beat back, how often! the enemy’s hosts. We had our revenge for the blood that was shed, At dark “Isandhlwana”--_they paid for our dead_. “Hurrah, how we fought for Old England.”

Day broke, and the devils had silently gone, We counted their dead, more than twenty to one! Our loss was Fifteen--so we set up a shout That frightened the vultures slow sailing about.

* * * * *

In the heart thrill of nations will live your reward, Oh! brave “Twenty-fourth,” oh! brave Bromhead and Chard-- “Hurrah, how you fought for Old England.”

_A. Brodrick._

PRETORIA, 1882.

_BEFORE ULUNDI._

We had to retreat, entirely by Zulus surrounded-- We had to retreat, but we cut our way through as you know. Bold Beresford lingered, while loudly the bugle was sounded, And turned in his saddle to take a last look at the foe.

A trooper’s horse dropped; its rider lay stunned for a minute-- But quick as the lightning the storm-cloud in summer reveals, A voice cried, “Come, quick! see the stirrup--now set your foot in it-- And jump up behind, for the devils are close to our heels.”

“No, here I’ll remain. Go on, and don’t mind me, your honour, Ride on, save yourself, if I’m killed I shall never be missed.” But the mare had to carry that day double burden upon her-- “Come up, or by heaven, I’ll give you the weight of my fist.”

Then away went the mare, and many a yell from pursuer Rose high on the air while fast o’er the wild veld they fled, No braver heart beat on that day, no braver or truer Than his whose strong arm snatched a comrade from realms of the dead.

Ere sundown they rode into camp and quickly dismounted, And then they shook hands and parted, “To arms!” was the call. Of all the good deeds that were done, oh! shall not be counted Bold Beresford’s ride with the Sergeant the bravest of all?

_A. Brodrick._

PRETORIA, 1882.

_THE BARON’S ADVENTURE._

(A FACT.)

Voici une pétite chanson Pour le Baron de Sanson A story--a tale, what you call episode-- On the trials he meet Wiz his cart (de visite) On ze laissez-faire, what you call Idle-burg Road.

You know how he state Dis country is great? And most be duv-velop, c’est vrai, it is true-- Vel, listen my story-- I tell con amore, Ze Baron he nearly vos duvvel op too.

Ze chemin vos von mud, Ze rain vos ze vlood,-- He arrive by ze river, ze water vos “grand,” His friend look to him And say, “Can you swim?” Zen jomp comme un poisson and sit on ze land.

Mais le Baron vos tumble, He make one big jumble, And mix vis ze buggy and turn razzer pale, And ze friend, he that voss up Say to me, “It’s von toss up What side is ze Baron, ze head of ze tail?”

We make a big screamin’, Zey fling a big reim in-- Zey catch ze brave Baron--comme ça--par la jambe-- Ze clothes vos departed, He sigh, zen he started-- And after some cognac he say, “Vare I am?”

Ah! but he vos plucky, He say he vos “lucky”-- He vos bruise on his back, and scratch on his knees-- Ze horses vare no vare! Ze buggy turn ovare! So he walk for five miles--in top boots and chemise?

_A. Brodrick._

PRETORIA, 1882.

_SOUTH AFRICAN COURTSHIP._