A dream once held, will last forever.

Culture Survival

The Burden of the Old Blood

Oh, Afrikaner, you carry an ancient weight —

the blood of pioneers, the echo of fate.

You have walked through wars, betrayals, pain,

through scorn and exile, loss and rain.

You sought My promise, yet feared My call,

You built your towers, but I broke them all —

not for wrath, but to keep your soul awake,

For pride was the serpent you had to forsake.

Now, once more, the test returns:

Will you bow to comfort while your spirit burns?

Will you trade your hymns for the world’s acclaim,

Or bear the reproach for My Holy Name?

8. The Battle in the Schools and Homes

See the children — their minds are bright,

but the world creeps in, disguised as light.

They are taught that faith is myth and lore,

that God is silent, that truth is no more.

Yet some young hearts still kneel at night,

whispering prayers in trembling light.

They remember their mothers’ hymns,

their fathers’ grace before the brim.

And I, the Lord, shall fan that spark —

For light is strongest in the deepest dark.

Teach them, O remnant, to fear not scorn;

My covenant people shall be reborn.