The frontier and the trek_(1700_1836)
1207 Words
I. The Call of the Wilderness
The years rolled on like cattle herds,
The land grew vast beyond their words.
The Cape grew tight, its borders small,
And freedom whispered, “Come, that’s all.”
The sons of Riebeeck’s weary band,
Looked northward to the untamed land.
Their hearts were restless, wild, and wide,
They felt the Spirit as their guide.
No king’s decree could hold them fast,
Their souls were bound to heaven’s vast.
They sought no gold, they sought no fame,
But only space to live without shame.
To farm, to hunt, to breathe, to be,
Where man stood equal, proud, and free.
So yoked their oxen, packed their load,
And sang their psalms along the road.
The trek began — no trumpet call,
Just wagon wheels through morning’s pall.
The women prayed, the children dreamed,
The men held rifles, eyes that gleamed.
They crossed the rivers, forged the veld,
And at each camp, a psalm was felt.
“God lead our path,” their voices rang,
As night fell around their campfires sang.
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II. Sons of Dust and Faith
The frontier shaped them, strong and lean,
Their world was vast, their needs were keen.
They learned the silence of the plain,
The patience taught by drought and rain.
Their rifles cracked through dawn’s red mist,
Their cattle roamed where none had list.
They tamed the land, or so they said,
Though oft the land tamed them instead.
The lion’s roar, the thunder’s might,
Were brothers to their endless fight.
They faced the hunger, fear, and thirst,
But never let their courage burst.
And every hardship that they bore,
Made faith in God burn all the more.
Their Bible worn, their hearts like steel,
Their prayers as real as wounds they’d heal.
Their wives were queens in tents of reed,
With strength enough for every need.
They bore the children, fed the flame,
And whispered Jesus’ name.
By candlelight they stitched and prayed,
While men on horseback fought and strayed.
And when the stars shone hard and cold,
They sang of promises untold.
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III. The Clash of Boundaries
But freedom’s road was not their own,
For others claimed what they had sown.
The Khoisan tribes, the hunter bands,
Still roamed the rivers, ruled the sands.
At times they traded — salt for bread,
At times they fought, and men lay dead.
The frontier knew no peace, no line,
Where faith and hunger intertwine.
The Company far in Table Bay,
Sent laws no man would much obey.
For who could rule from ocean’s foam,
The hearts that built their church and home?
They were the law, the judge, the hand,
That held both the musket and the land.
And though they bowed to God alone,
They carved their justice, rough as stone.
The governor’s reach was weak and small,
The veldt was wide, the sky too tall.
So men became both lord and priest,
Defending the hearth from man and beast.
And in that freedom, fierce and grim,
The soul of Afrikanerdom
Was forged in hardship, blood, and pride,
Where none but faith and gun abide.
---
IV. The Frontier Faith
Their Sundays came with solemn song,
Though miles from church, their hearts belonged.
Beneath the thorn tree’s bending shade,
Their Bibles opened, and prayers were made.
They thanked the Lord for sun and rain,
For cattle strong and harvest grain.
They prayed for kin, for peace, for grace,
For courage in this untamed place.
Their preachers rode through dust and flame,
With gospel fire and humble name.
They told of Christ who bled and died,
And hearts were stirred, and eyes were wide.
Each psalm became a battle cry,
Each verse is a promise never to die.
And though the wilderness was vast,
Their faith was an anchor, first and last.
The children learned their letters slowly,
From mothers’ lips and fathers’ glow.
They learned to ride, to shoot, to farm,
To trust the Lord through fear or harm.
And when the nights were long and clear,
They felt His voice in silence near.
For every wind that crossed the plain,
Was whispering, “My hand remains.”
---
V. The Birth of a People Apart
By the 1750’s restless dawn,
A newborn nation had been drawn.
Not Dutch, not pure, not quite defined,
But shaped by the veldt and God’s design.
They called themselves Boer, farmer free,
Unchained by crown or colony.
Their blood was mixed — of slave and Dane,
Of French and German — one refrain.
The Huguenots with prayers of wine,
Had joined the Dutch in God’s design.
They brought the vines, they taught the plough,
They knelt in faith, as they do now.
And from that blend of tongues and creed,
A single soul began to breed.
Afrikaner — name unborn still,
But whispered through the wind’s low thrill.
They lived as lords of dust and gun,
Their justice is harsh, their mercy none.
Yet deep within their stubborn pride,
A gentler heart did still abide.
For though they fought and often sinned,
They loved the land, the storm, the wind.
And from that love, both fierce and wide,
Their destiny was sanctified.
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VI. The Shadow of Change
Then came the winds from Europe’s shore,
Of empire shifting, kings at war.
The Dutch grew weak, the British came,
With polished boots and a foreign claim.
The Cape was seized by English hands,
A new tongue ruled the sacred land.
They taxed, they judged, they claimed the crown,
And the Dutchmen’s freedom was cast down.
The Boers obeyed but not for long,
Their hearts were proud, their faith was strong.
They bowed their heads, yet eyes still burned,
For liberty too soon had turned.
They saw their speech, their psalms, their ways,
Dismissed as relics of old days.
And deep within, a spark was set,
That none who ruled would soon forget.
The land grew restless, hearts grew sore,
As law replaced what faith had borne.
The Company’s age was long since gone,
But the empire’s shadow lingered on.
And those who’d wandered veldt and hill,
Would not be tamed by foreign will.
Their wagons called once more to roam,
To seek again their truer home.
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VII. The Trek’s First Dream
By the 1800’s early light,
The frontier folk prepared for flight.
They’d known the land, the drought, the flood,
They’d spilled enough sweat and blood.
But now they sought what none could find —
A land where heart and soul aligned.
No taxman’s hand, no ruler’s chain,
Just God, the veldt, and sky again.
They looked beyond the Gariep’s gleam,
And dreamed of Zion’s golden theme.
Their wagons creaked like hymns of old,
Their hearts were steel, their prayers were bold.
“Come, children, come — the Lord will show,
A land where only freedom grows.”
They gathered Bibles, flint, and seed,
And set their course on faith and creed.
They left the Cape — its towns, its graves,
Its masters, laws, and ocean waves.
The road ahead was fierce and far,
But lit by heaven’s steadfast star.
And as they crossed the silent plain,
They sang through dust and loss and pain.
For though they left all else behind,
They carried Afrika in mind.
- Writer
