A dream once held, will last forever.

The covenant flame

1. The Voice Over the Plains

I am the Lord who walked with them through drought and dust,

who whispered through veld fires and the rolling thunder’s trust.

Before the iron wagons carved the veld’s first scar,

I saw their hearts — trembling, yet steadfast as the southern star.

From the salt of the Cape to the Drakensberg’s stone spine,

I kept them, a people set apart, whose hearts still intertwined

with prayer at dawn, and hymns in candlelight —

a covenant people, born of struggle, faith, and night.

But now, the drums of a new creed rise in the square,

and I behold My children — weary, yet still in prayer.

For the nations around them have turned to the smoke of idols,

and the fire that once burned pure now mingles with strange signals.

2. The Age of Blending

See — the lands are loud with laughter not born of Me.

Temples of screens and flesh sing their blasphemy.

They dance before altars of pride and self,

they call it unity — yet it is spiritual stealth.

The Afrikaner stands at the crossroads, pale with wonder:

“Must we bow to this?” their hearts still thunder.

For the voices around them whisper in law and lore:

“Be like us, forget your God — fight no more.”

Yet in their bones, an ancient fire still stirs.

The echoes of the Voortrekker psalms still purr

in the winds that sweep the Karoo plain,

in the whispered prayers that ease their pain.